


A Deeper Blue

by Sinister_Kid



Series: Midnight Madness [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Please Don't Hate Me, Romantic Rivals, Sexual Tension, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Burn, Templar Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinister_Kid/pseuds/Sinister_Kid
Summary: Artemis Trevelyan, former Knight-Captain of Ostwick, is a pragmatic individual at best, and cold and ruthless at his worst, and while he's allied with mages to seal the Breach, he has no care for their company. Yet, for some reason, Dorian Pavus just can't stay away from him.This is their romance.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Series: Midnight Madness [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1155851
Comments: 19
Kudos: 30





	1. Impenetrable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kosho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosho/gifts).



> I don't know why, but this song, [Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=LnRe8Q5r6rE&feature=share), made me think of these two, so it's pretty much their theme song.
> 
> This starts after completion of In Hushed Whispers, and is told from Dorian's POV. I don't plan on following a lot of canon with their romance, and this won't have much plot other than pesky feelings leading to the eventual smut.
> 
> (But it's the smut y'all signed up for, right?)

No one knew how to handle the man everyone called the Herald of Andraste.

He was opinionated and assertive. Argumentative, and stern. His ill temper was unmatched by any at the village of Haven, save perhaps for Seeker Cassandra. He had been a Templar, served in Ostwick’s chapter as Knight-Captain, and fought in the Mage-Templar war. The only reason he ceased fighting mages and joined the Inquisition was because he believed the Breach in the sky was more imperative a threat than that of apostates in the Hinterlands.

The mark on his hand was the only thing that could close it, which gave him new purpose, and enough pause to consider the bigger picture before rushing back into battle. Not because he believed the mark was any sort of blessing from the Maker, but simply because he alone possessed it. Dorian found the man utterly fascinating because of it. Maybe for no other reason though. He wasn’t particularly remarkable. As mundane as they come, rather.

He wasn’t incredibly handsome, or charming, or even personable really. He could’ve been anyone, for all the Altus could care about his looks and personality. But he was a talented warrior. He’d been born to serve as a Templar, and from the moment he was conceived he was promised to Chantry by the noble House Trevelyan. Began training at the tender age of six, and now, at thirty-five, he was a deadly weapon, honed to a razor’s sharp edge, with the two-handed warlord blade he carried.

Dorian’s first encounter with the man had been an impromptu meeting at a Chantry in Redcliffe. Grand Enchanter Fiona and her forces had allied with Magister Gereon Alexius–Dorian’s former mentor and friend–who had joined a supremacist cult, and the Altus was determined to see these Venatori and their nefarious plans brought to bear, hopefully with the help of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste. They met when Dorian encountered a Fade rift in the chapel.

Effortlessly the Templar closed it–ironically with magic–and after, questioned Dorian and his motives. But despite his mistrust in the southern mages, Artemis was interested in stopping Alexius and his time magic, if able. So he’d agreed to the plan of arranging a meeting with the Magister at Redcliffe castle in order to distract him while the Inquisition snuck agents inside the castle to overtake it, and agreed to Dorian tagging along.

This ended with a twist of course, one which included accidental travel through time–one year into the future, to be exact–when Alexius attempted to obliterate the Templar using the time amulet. He and Dorian managed to escape back to the present together, capture Alexius, and induct Fiona’s mages into the Inquisition’s ranks to close the Breach, but while he’d no choice but to put his trust in Dorian to survive, he didn’t like the Altus much, and it really showed.

He only went out of his way to speak to a handful of people at Haven–mostly keeping to himself otherwise–but Dorian was not one of those people. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that Artemis Trevelyan didn’t try to befriend him in any sense of the term. But maybe it was simply because he didn’t that Dorian wanted him to. He was always attracted to the difficult ones, the ones near impervious to his charms at first. He loved the opposition.

But he didn’t like being despised. The only friend he’d had there in the south, Alexius’ son, left to go back to Tevinter and tell the Senate what had occurred in Redcliffe, leaving Dorian with an outfit of strangers, many of which were suspicious of him, merely because he hailed from the Imperium. Most if not all were wary of his magic, and even those that weren’t so wary still didn’t appear to like him much, and Dorian really didn’t care for not being liked.

Which was precisely the reason why he found himself outside the village proper, searching for the obtrusive Knight-Captain of Ostwick that evaded him.

He’d left the encampment roughly an hour ago, and Dorian had expected to find him by the training yard by the main gate when he searched him out, but he wasn’t. He was not engaged in conversation with the Seeker, the Commander, or even Blackwall or the Iron Bull–who blinked at Dorian when he walked by–but instead he was somewhere in the woods beyond Haven. Dorian followed the sounds of a tree being hacked at, as a sword was smacked mercilessly against it.

Artemis had found a quiet place in a patch of woods by the lake to either train with his sword, or take some frustrations out on that poor innocent tree. Dorian hung back and watched for a while before he approached, arms folded, but one hand rubbing his chin as he appraised the Herald, unaware of the mage’s presence, or so he assumed at first. But he watched Ser Trevelyan hack at a tree with a practice sword, so to save the edge of his sharpened blade.

He was not a small man, by any means. Stood at least an inch or two taller than Dorian, possessed the broad shoulders of a brutal vanguard, largely used to drawing enemies and engaging in close combat. Currently, he struck the battered trunk of the aspen with marked proficiency, meaning he was training and not simply hitting mindlessly without any sort of purpose. In proper fighting stance, one foot forward and the other behind, his movement fluid.

As previously mentioned, he wasn’t particularly remarkable in any way, but he wasn’t too hard on the eyes either. Artemis came from a line originating in Tevinter, so while he didn’t possess skin near as a dark as Dorian’s, as the line had become diluted with each new generation, he still tanned relatively easily, and also sported a head of thick, glossy obsidian hair that shown in the afternoon sun. Though his was longer, just enough to tie at the nape of his neck.

Dorian wouldn’t truly know if that Tevinter ancestry graced Artemis with a handsome face, as most of it hid behind a scruffy beard he neglected to maintain, as he was more concerned with ability than appearances, but Artemis did possess nice cheekbones and a long shapely nose that was unbroken still. What struck the most were his eyes, however. Two pools of Lyrium blue rested beneath dark brows, and bore into an individual with such intensity it was maddening.

Like Artemis saw not only a man’s face, but looked into his soul.

“It’s impolite to spy on someone, Lord Pavus,” he said without looking, pausing in training.

Dorian clenched his jaw at the address. He did it on purpose, calling him Lord Pavus, maybe just to get under his skin, but certainly to keep an impenetrable wall of formality between them. When Artemis turned to face him, tossing aside the practice sword for the time being and wiping the sweat from his brow, Dorian quickly replaced the scowl with a smirk and said, “Drat. And here I thought you’d never notice. Should’ve known better. Everywhere I go I’m turning heads.”

Artemis didn’t react to any bit of that statement, and instead frowned deeply at Dorian, folding both arms across his broad chest, covered in chain mail. He’d forgone the leather defender coat that normally draped over it, and should be freezing in that, but instead he sweat. Dorian hadn’t the faintest idea how the man could stand the biting chill of the Frostbacks like he did. The mage, on the other hand, had to constantly expend mana to warm his frozen toes.

“What do you want?” Artemis asked simply, that Free Marcher lilt accenting every syllable. Dorian shrugged a single shoulder and diverted his attention to the tree for a moment, stepping around the Herald with as much grace and ease that he could muster, considering the uneven terrain and the ice beneath their feet. Stepped toward the tree and ran his fingers along the jagged marks left by the dull practice sword. 

“I find it interesting, Knight-Captain,” he spoke, eyes on the split bark. “That you should wholeheartedly despise magic as you do, yet, despite that, you trusted me to assist you in putting a stop to Alexius’ plans, then turned around an allied with mages to seal the Breach in the sky.”

Artemis got this expression of bewilderment, as if he wondered if there were a point to this conversation. There really wasn’t–Dorian just wanted an excuse to talk to the man–but it seemed as good a time as any to bring up the fact that Artemis utterly despised mages. But he nodded simply and said, “I had little choice really. I was not about to let Fiona’s desperation to win the war enslave every southern mage to Tevinter. As for the trusting part…that’s up for debate.”

Dorian huffed disbelievingly at that. “You mean after all we’ve been through–traveling through time and barely escaping with our heads attached–you still don’t trust me?”

Artemis gave him a reasonable answer though, and said, “I don’t trust what you’re capable of.”

“Is there a difference?” Dorian asked, more or less just to irritate him, but it didn’t work. His expression was still as blank as ever, mouth a thin line, and Lyrium eyes as cold as ice.

Maker how he wanted to get under this man’s skin, just once.

“No, I suppose with your kind, there is little difference.” Dorian pretended to be offended by that, though the despairing look he shot Artemis was as thin as ice. “I know better than to think you would drag yourself all the way out here into the middle of the woods, in the ice and snow, merely to discuss my alliance with mages, Pavus. So why did you come here? What do you want?” 

That was a very good question. Truth be told, Dorian didn’t know what he wanted exactly. He just wanted, nothing more. “Why, I’ve simply come to grace you with the magnificence that is Dorian Pavus of Minrathous, naturally,” he grinned, moving to lean against the tree Artemis had been hacking, mirroring his stance and crossing both arms over his chest. “Is that not enough for you, Knight-Captain?”

The Herald blinked. “You don’t amuse me,” he said tonelessly. 

_Well, you win some, you lose some_ , Dorian thought.

“Something’s been bothering you,” he said, switching tactics, since obviously being coy just wasn’t working for the Herald, and garnered no reaction whatsoever. “I imagine this is why you’re all the way out here, hacking at this tree, instead of sparring with the others in the training yard. Care to talk about it?”

“Not with you.”

“Why not with me?” Dorian demanded. “Why are you always avoiding me? You’ll speak with others, but not me.”

“Because I don’t have anything to discuss with you.”

“Yet you’ll speak to that drab apostate. What’s his name? Ah yes, Solas.”

“Because Solas has magical knowledge I find useful.”

“Well if it’s magical studies that interest you, again I ask, why not me? If it’s knowledge you seek, I have plenty to share. So why do you continuously avoid me like the Blight?”

Artemis inhaled deeply through his nose, looking anywhere but Dorian for a moment, as if either he didn’t know how to answer that, or didn’t wish to answer honestly. A light breeze swept a single strand of hair into his face, that fluttered when he exhaled. Could have been that Dorian was touch starved, having gone far too long without a lover, and that he was merely desperate for companionship of any nature, but he felt a surge of attraction to the Templar just then.

Wanted to cross the distance between them, and sweep those lose strands from his face as he cupped it in his hands.

 _Maker, I am desperate_, he thought.

“I’m very grateful for your assistance in Redcliffe, Lord Pavus,” he finally spoke. “But require nothing else from you, at this time. As long as you continue to aid the Inquisition and don’t become a burden, you’re welcome to Haven for as long as you like. But that’s the extent of it, I’m afraid. So if you mean to befriend me in some capacity, don’t bother. As for the reason I’m out here, I simply prefer solitude every now and then.”

Dorian sighed at all that. Never having been so aggravated in his life. There would simply be no getting past the Herald’s impenetrable wall of formality, would there?

“Well,” he clipped, dropping the pleasant attitude. “Should you ever desire better company than that which you have, do let me know…Knight-Captain.”

He pushed himself off the tree and headed back through the clearing from which he came, not bothering to shoot the Herald a backward glance.

He just couldn’t understand why, but the Herald disliking him bothered him to no end.

Perhaps he’d get through to him eventually, but obviously not today.


	2. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian tries to figure out why Artemis is avoiding him.

Things changed drastically for Dorian after Haven was attacked and the Inquisition relocated to Skyhold fortress. Suddenly he wasn’t just some interloper, hanging around the village, but a crucial part of the organization, as Artemis had allowed him to be so. The former Knight-Captain, who was now Inquisitor Trevelyan, as the council of advisers voted on it, and elected him their leader of an official capacity–as if he weren’t already leading them, which he was.

Dorian had fought at his side when the village was attacked by corrupt Templars. He, the Iron Bull, and the wily elf, Sera, had dispatched of one Red Lyrium crazed Templar after another in the fight to escape unscathed, and for this, Artemis continued to allow Dorian’s stay at Skyhold, and had tasked him with uncovering any and all information they could glean on Corypheus. But while he’d gained some small measure of respect from the Inquisitor, he was still largely avoided.

Dorian was left with the aggravating unanswered question of _why_.

But he’d made some friends among the members of the Inquisition, discovered those he could get along with, and those he couldn’t, and among the few he could hold conversation with, he’d befriended Commander Cullen, unbelievably. The former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall who’d also admonished mages once upon a time seemed to have a change of heart recently, and was far more approachable that he would’ve been previously.

He discovered the Commander liked chess, and it opened the door for the two of them to be somewhat companionable at Skyhold. They discussed current affairs while engaged in some friendly competition, and tentatively became friends. He’d also managed to hold a conversation with Solas for longer than five minutes without wanting to explode. In fact, there were several people that were slowly warming up to Dorian’s presence, and yet still, despite all this…

The only thing begotten of the Inquisitor was a cold stare.

Maker how it infuriated him!

If Cullen of all people could find Dorian’s company pleasing, then why couldn’t Artemis? Why was he still so detached? Dorian still didn’t know why it bothered him so much, but he just couldn’t help but wonder what it was he’d done or said to offend him personally. Even when Dorian tried to be polite and friendly to the man, he was still as cold as ice toward Dorian. Like a statue, just as immovable as stone. But Dorian didn’t want to inquire of it, and have others asking why he cared.

He shouldn’t care. He wasn’t there to make nice with the Herald of Andraste. He was there to help the Inquisition stop Corypheus. It was why he’d donated all his time and focus to their cause, foregoing every luxury he would’ve had in Tevinter for the chance to make things right. He shouldn’t mind so much if Artemis didn’t care an ounce for Dorian’s company. It shouldn’t bother him at all. As long as he allowed Dorian to help them, none of it should matter.

But it still aggravated him. Try as he might, he just couldn’t let go of it, and too often he found himself thinking about it as he perused the second floor of the library in the keep. Artemis had grown closer to others in the passing weeks, but still not Dorian. Even attempted to slip past him without a word one day, on his way to the top floor of the tower to speak to Leliana, and when Dorian tried to engage him, he’d said, “I’m busy, Pavus,” and shuffled past, barely making eye contact.

He was just so unbelievably calloused, and perhaps for that reason, Dorian was determined to get to the bottom of it, and get some answers.

He trusted few at Skyhold not to gossip about it, should he bring it up in conversation, save for maybe Seeker Cassandra, Commander Cullen, or the Spymaster. Bull and Sera would relentlessly tease him for obsessing over the Inquisitor. Josephine might chastise him for having an interest in Artemis, but Vivienne would assume he was trying to corrupt him or something of the like, which was preposterous. If Dorian wanted to corrupt a Templar, he didn’t need magic to do it.

So one day he entreated Cullen to chess, and forewent any subtlety with the warrior. Cullen was a straightforward man, and Dorian found it much easier to converse with him if he didn’t mince words. “Why doesn’t he like me?” he simply mused aloud, as he and Cullen played their game under the gazebo in the garden, the Commander doing a fine job of obliterating every one of Dorian’s moves with his strategy. Cullen blinked in confusion at the question.

“Who?”

“The Inquisitor. I simply don’t understand. He avoids me at all costs. When even _you_ warmed up to me eventually, yes? So why not him?”

“Well,” Cullen shrugged, as if he didn’t know the answer to that himself, “What have you done recently to offend him?” He raised a brow at Dorian and moved a piece on the board between them.

“ _Well_ ,” Dorian mocked, leaning forward to make his counter move, “Firstly, it’s not been recent, and secondly, I have done nothing, that I’m aware of.”

“I was not aware of Inquisitor Trevelyan having a problem with you,” Cullen mentioned, studying the pieces on the board, and the moves possible to make. “He’s never spoken ill of you that I’d ever heard. I’d assumed he held you in as much regard as any other here. Why was this not brought to my attention sooner?” Dorian wanted to slap himself when he heard that. Cullen made it sound like a formal complaint of the Inquisitor’s treatment of him.

“Well it’s only a minor grievance, really,” Dorian was quick to say, before Cullen jumped up from his seat to fetch the rest of the war council and address the Inquisitor personally, of which the Altus would simply die of pure mortification if he did. “It’s just aggravating,” Dorian voiced. “I cannot fathom what I could possibly have done to make him avoid me like this. To the point that he leaves any room I enter, whether I’ve searched him out or not.”

Cullen hummed thoughtfully for a moment, then finally made his move on the board, leaving the turn to Dorian next. “Perhaps, given your difference of opinions, he simply wishes to avoid argument. We all know that while he is a proficient leader, he’s…” Cullen paused to scratch the back of his neck. “…Not the most agreeable person, at times.” Dorian hummed in acknowledgement, then switched his focus back to their game. For once, it appeared he would win this round.

He claimed the desired piece and watched as Cullen frowned at the winning move Dorian had made. “It seems you’ve won this time around,” he needlessly pointed out, and Dorian smirked.

“Better luck next time, then?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes mischievously at Dorian. “Perhaps.” 

“Have time for a rematch presently, Commander?”

“I’m afraid not,” Cullen answered, shaking his head and rising from his seat. “I should return to my duties. We’ll play again another time.”

“Of course. Have a good day, Commander,” Dorian said, nodding, then watched Cullen leave the garden, headed back to his makeshift office in one of the watch towers along the battlements. He sat there still, wasting a few more minutes, pondering the Commander’s words in regards to Artemis and his pragmatic behavior. He’d thought surely the Inquisitor would confide in the Commander. But Cullen hadn’t a clue why he avoided Dorian, dismissing it as a mere difference of opinions. 

True, there were some large differences between them that _could_ cause a rift, but still, why avoid him like this? He’d argue with others, and was known to be downright deplorable with some if he didn’t agree with them on a subject. But he’d speak to them nonetheless, and didn’t turn and walk the other way the moment he saw them walking down the hall. So what made Dorian different then? What made him the exception to this rule?

He pestered Cassandra next. Or, more like, she pestered _him_. The Seeker was also troubled about something, and sought out the mage to vent her frustrations, because apparently hacking at a practice target just simply wouldn’t cut it this time around. Normally she would speak to the Inquisitor when something bothered her, which meant this was _about_ the Inquisitor, or at least he was involved, and Dorian could be counted on to listen to her concerns.

He was a surprisingly good listener, despite what people might say otherwise. He didn’t only make the conversation about himself, and Cassandra was one of those few people that actively sought him out and befriended him since Haven. Dorian was a good ear to listen when the Seeker needed an objective, unbiased opinion on an issue. Dorian was perfect for this because he wasn’t even from the south, and had learned much of its culture simply as he went along.

She found him in the tower as he was browsing the books on the shelves. “Ser Pavus?” she addressed quietly, or should he say, quiet for the Seeker, meaning she spoke at normal volume instead of shouting. “May I speak with you?”

“Ah! Good afternoon, Seeker,” he greeted, then gestured to the arm chair nearby. “Sit. Please. Allow me to grace you with my beauty, charm, and intelligence.”

She snorted at that. But she didn’t _deny_ his beauty, or charm. Only rolled her eyes a little at his self adulation and nevertheless sat in the chair, folding her hands in her lap. She was not a graceful creature, but being raised by nobility and then being rigorously trained by very strict mentors meant she sat straight in the chair and didn’t slouch, and while she could be a bit prickly from time to time, she was also the epitome of politeness. Josephine truly undervalued her in that skill.

“What’s bothering you, my dear?” Dorian asked her.

Cassandra sighed, brushing away one of the stray hairs that framed her face with a gloved hand. “Varric brought the Champion of Kirkwall to Skyhold,” she said. But before Dorian could even inquire as to the significance of this person, she aptly explained. “Hawke, the apostate that aided the mages in Kirkwall, starting the uprising that led to the Mage-Templar war.” Dorian mouthed an ‘ah’. He’d heard small mention of this person. “Varric lied about knowing where he was.”

“And that is disconcerting for you then?”

“Yes. It is. When I questioned him in Kirkwall, he spun a tale for me, and I believed it. But now, he brings Hawke here, knowing precisely where he was all along. He had information about Corypheus. Apparently they fought him before, and thought him to be dead, but now that he has returned, the apostate wishes to lend his aid to the Inquisitor in stopping him. He also spoke of a Warden, hiding out in Crestwood, that might have information on the missing Order and what they’re planning.”

“Well, it sound like things worked out for the better, yes? That despite Varric’s little charade, we now have one more ally to help us defeat Corypheus? Where’s the downside, exactly?”

Cassandra’s frown only deepened. “Varric _lied_ to me, Dorian,” she said. “How can I ever trust him again? The Inquisitor tells me I should simply accept it and move on. His words were, and I quote, ‘Get over it, Cassandra’. He expects me to simply deal with it. But I can’t. No matter how I try, I cannot stop thinking about it, turning it over in my mind, wondering if I should’ve done something different, maybe tried harder to convince Varric how much we needed Hawke’s help.”

Dorian rubbed his chin for a moment, pondering this. Sounded like the Seeker was just as prone to obsessing over something as he was. “But do you honestly think he would’ve listened?”

“I…I don’t know. But I can never believe a word that falls from that dwarf’s lips ever again. I will forever question everything he tells me. Second-guess every move he makes.”

“Well, if it helps, keep in mind that Varric is here, helping the Inquisition, and does care about the current state of things. At any moment he could’ve tarried back to Kirkwall, but hasn’t. Surely that counts for something.” And by the Maker, Dorian hoped it did. Not for Varric, but for himself, in regards to the Inquisitor. Surely Artemis could see Dorian meant well, and would never be the foul, murderous blood mage many feared he secretly was.

“Varric did say he was only trying to protect Hawke,” Cassandra said. 

“Well there you have it. You’ll simply have to decide what to do with that information from here on out.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Cassandra gazed up at him thoughtfully, then asked, “Are you alright, Dorian? When I first came in, you looked troubled by something as well. Anything I could help with?”

“Hmm, perhaps. Would you happen to know why the Inquisitor avoids me?”

Unbelieveably, Cassandra chuckled at that. “You can ask him yourself. He requested that we bring you with us to Crestwood.”

“Oh goody,” he derided sarcastically. “I hear that place is all sunshine and happiness. Should be delightful.”

Cassandra shook her head at him as she rose from the armchair and walked away.

So the Inquisitor wanted him to join the expedition to Crestwood, was it? 

Well, at least he still held Dorian’s skill as a mage in some regard.


	3. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian accidently uncovers a secret Artemis has been keeping in Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if Enemies To Lovers is a good tag for this fic since technically they're not really enemies, but I can't think of a more suitable tag for, "I act like I can't stand you and avoid you at all costs, but I'm going to have sex with you by the end of this fic." Is there a better tag for that?

The journey to Crestwood was long, slow and silent for the most part, which meant it was terribly boring for the Altus. But he was in good company. Though they may not like each other much, Dorian didn’t mind either Cassandra or Varric in the least. But their qualms with one another, ever since Hawke appeared, made traveling rather awkward, as they did anything they could to avoid having to speak to each other, and of course the Inquisitor was stoic as ever.

Dorian was tempted to raise his staff to his own head and end it out of sheer boredom from the monotony of day after day of travel with these three. But eventually they reached the borders of Crestwood, and the monotony soon morphed into something else, as the party of travelers slowly became more and more alert, the closer they came to the village proper. It started to rain that afternoon, and by nightfall it was a downpour, as they met with Lace Harding.

She and the other agents that scouted ahead to report on the situation had made camp in the foothills above the town, and there they met the small party, and Scout Harding gave her report. Artemis was busy listening to all Harding had to say on the area, all about how the town was beset by demons and undead, which made it impossible to bring aid to the villagers, and there was a rift under the lake. While Artemis listened, Dorian intermittently stared at his profile.

He was good at this part. Good at taking command of a situation and plunging head first into danger. He made it look easy, the way he’d silently soak in everything Harding had to say, commit it to memory, accept the map of the region when handed to him, then make for the village with a determined expression. As if nothing, not demons, nor even _dragons_ , ever frightened the Inquisitor. Even back at Haven, in the midst of battle, he’d never wavered.

Like he wasn’t scared of anything. Anything at all. After he’d been briefed on the situation, he wasted no time in getting to the town of Crestwood to deal with the mess before further damage was done. The four of them worked surprisingly well together. Varric and Cassandra had worked with Artemis the longest, and so they were the most familiar with his fighting tactics, and it was simple enough for Dorian to provide magical assistance, mostly constructing protective barriers for the rest.

But they weren’t the only travelers to Crestwood that day. Wardens were also on the hunt for their missing comrade. The very same Warden they too were searching for. It was an inconvenience, but not near as problematic as the rift below the waters near the town, which could only be accessed if they were able to get to the dam controls and drain the lake. They had to fight through a fortress taken over by bandits to switch the mechanism and lower the depths.

Dorian’s first clue that something was wrong with the Inquisitor was when, after the battle, he’d doubled over in pain, despite not having been injured during the fight. He tripped over himself, catching his balance on the nearest railing, and clutched his stomach. Cassandra gasped when she saw it, and approached the Inquisitor, placing a hand on his arm. He shrugged her off. “I’m fine, Lady Cassandra,” he swore, though he still grimaced as if in excruciating pain.

“You don’t look like you’re fine, Happy,” Varric commented, to which the Inquisitor rolled his eyes. Ironic of a name to give a man like Artemis. He was anything but. Though perhaps that was the point. The storytelling dwarf was known to be quite facetious, was practically famous for it by now.

“Were you injured?” Dorian asked, and Artemis shot him a glare, as if to say, ‘How dare you speak to me, mage,’ but then looked away just as quickly.

“I’m alright,” he told them, attempting to straighten. “I just lost my balance for a moment.”

He continued on as if nothing were amiss, masking the pain with his signature scowl, and behind his back his three companions shared a concerned look. Things did not get easier from there. Later, after they’d turned Caer Bronach into an Inquisition outpost, Artemis disappeared for a time, venturing somewhere unseen, and returned much later looking worse than when he left. Trembling, sweat dampening his brow, looking as if he’d just vomited, or was about to.

It seemed very clear to the Altus that the Inquisitor was ill, but they had no choice but to press on. Dorian could only hope it was nothing too serious, something he would recover quickly from. Perhaps the foul weather in Crestwood was to blame. But the more they fought, and the harder the Inquisitor exerted himself, the worse it became. Cassandra worried the most, wringing her hands whenever he looked faint, and Dorian began to wonder if he’d been poisoned.

It wasn’t until after they met with Hawke at the smugglers’ hideout and spoke to the Grey Warden contact about what the other Wardens were up to, then dispatching of a nest of wyverns, that Dorian got any answers. Artemis collapsed at camp. Just fell– _Splat!_ –to the ground in front of his tent that evening, raising alarm from everyone in the vicinity. As Dorian was the only mage present, he was the only one that might be able to assist, so he rushed inside the tent, following the Seeker.

They splayed him across his bedroll and set to removing his armor.

He was feverish by then, so deep in the throes of sickness that he was barely coherent after Dorian roused him back to consciousness. He’d tried a bit of healing magic first. He wasn’t the most proficient at the skill, but he’d learned a few tricks since joining the Inquisition. Cassandra stayed at his side, holding the Inquisitor’s hand while Dorian poured his magic into him, and Varric stayed outside to keep everyone at camp calm and complacent while he worked.

It did little for him, aside from bring his fever down by a small margin. Either it was the Templar’s innate ability to resist magic via the Lyrium he consumed, or it was an illness that magic couldn’t cure. “I don’t understand,” he sighed, exasperated. “What could possibly have happened to him, Seeker? Was he poisoned?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then what is to blame?”

“I…believe I know the cause,” she slowly answered, after a moment of debate.

“And that would be?”

Cassandra sighed. “He’s withdrawing from Lyrium,” she answered, rendering Dorian utterly floored.

“How long have you known about this?”

“Since before we left for Crestwood,” she admitted, rousing the mage’s ire.

“And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?!”

“I thought he would tell you himself! I didn’t think I would need to speak of it, and he made me swear to secrecy. I would not divulge personal information about him unless I thought it truly necessary.”

Dorian sat back in the tent, utterly spent of magic for the time being, and exhausted of options. Evidently a healing potion wouldn’t work either. Artemis had taken several during the fight, and while it closed cuts and stopped the bleeding, obviously it did nothing to lessen the strain on his body absent of Lyrium. Dorian had spoken with Cullen before about Lyrium’s use by non-mages, the effects Lyrium had on the body, and the serious side effects of withdrawal.

“Seeker, he could die from this, if left untreated,” Dorian spoke aloud, and Cassandra nodded gravely. “Why has he stopped taking it?”

“It’s…not an easy matter to explain.”

“Well at least try, will you?”

Cassandra sighed and also sat back in the tent, resting her elbows on her knees. She thought for a moment before she spoke. When she did, the words came slow, and careful, like she didn’t wish to mix them up before speaking them aloud. 

“He’d only ever been a Templar before joining the Inquisition. He knew no other way to live. We were told that once a member of the Order receives their first draft of Lyrium, from that moment on, their fate is sealed. They are forever tied to it. Leashed by it, and under its control. They must be chained to Lyrium to carry out their duties, and would die if they went too long without it. It was how the Chantry kept them in line. Often he had trouble controlling the Anchor because of it. 

The Lyrium in his blood would battle with the magic on his hand, trying to disspell it. He was in near constant pain from this. Solas had no answers. No potions or spells would fix it. But then he learned of a Templar that so far has survived for months without Lyrium. He was granted hope by this. That he too could break free of the Order, for good, if he chose to, and would no longer suffer from his constant use of the mark. He came to me, asked me if I would allow it. 

I told him he did not need my permission to cease taking Lyrium. That is his own choice. But it will take some time before the worst of the symptoms pass, and even then, he must be kept under constant observation for these first few weeks, because while he may retain some of his abilities for a while longer, he’ll be weak, and vulnerable in this state. That’s why I had thought he would inform you of it. I thought surely he would trust you with this information.”

Yes, well, evidently she thought wrong. Dorian rubbed his newly stubbled cheek with the palm of his hand, considering this information brought to light. It would explain a lot about the Inquisitor’s most recent behavior. But it still didn’t explain why Artemis continued to give Dorian the cold shoulder. Unless… “Well why would he trust me?” Dorian grumbled, scowling. “I’m from Tevinter. Of course that can only mean I’m a wicked blood mage just waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.”

Cassandra scoffed at that. “ _Hardly_ ,” she said. “He speaks highly of you, Dorian. He has never voiced any misgivings, or any suspicion. Perhaps he didn’t wish to worry you.”

It was Dorian’s turn to scoff, though not as grossly as the Seeker did. 

“He puts all of us at risk by doing this, Seeker. In such a vulnerable state, we’ll have to double our guard.”

“I’m aware of this, and I agree that now was not the most opportune time to stop taking it, but the Herald insisted. He said if he didn’t stop now, he might never. He might change his mind, and continue to take it, purely out of necessity, and eventually he would lose his mind to it.”

Dorian glanced down at Artemis’ form as he lay on the bed roll. Only half dressed, as they stripped him down to only his tunic. “Help me undress him,” he said suddenly, sitting up again, spurned into action, “Then have one of the officers fetch a cold compress. Tell them it’s exhaustion. The Inquisitor has been running himself ragged without stopping since we arrived. That should keep everyone from panicking.” Though it wouldn’t stop Dorian from worrying.

When he realized that he was indeed _worried_ about the Inquisitor, and not just because of the mark, or its ability to close rifts, which was so vital to them, Dorian knew that he was doomed. Completely and utterly _doomed_. Because what he felt for Artemis just then was not only professional concern, but something else. He would not consider them friends by any means, but he did respect the man, and if he wasn’t careful, he might develop much stronger feelings for him later on.

He did not care to have yet _another_ unrequited crush on a taciturn ex Templar.

One was bad enough, and too many, in Dorian’s eyes.

It was a habit he desperately needed to break.

 _Ha! Seems we both have unhealthy addictions, do we not, Inquisitor?_ he thought.


	4. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian confronts the Inquisitor.

Dorian paced the length of camp that night, thinking about everything that transpired, while the others slept soundly in their tents. He should be resting too, but he just couldn’t sleep. He thought back to his and Cullen’s conversations about Lyrium and the damage it caused, then considered the Inquisitor’s current state of health, and wondered if perhaps he should confront Artemis about his Lyrium withdrawal, or simply pretend he’d never learned of it.

Which would be better in the long run? And would it help, or only make things worse, if he decided to mention it to the Inquisitor? In the end he decided he’d rather get it over with, and discuss Artemis’ Lyrium withdrawal, than simply let everything go unsaid between them. He also considered Cassandra’s words earlier that evening, as they’d tried their best to make the Inquisitor comfortable and bring down his fever a fraction. _He speaks highly of you, Dorian,_ she’d said.

Even though he avoided the Altus like he hated him, Artemis didn’t begrudge Dorian like he’d assumed. On a _professional_ level at least, he respected Dorian, he just didn’t wish to get to know the mage on a more personal level. But whether or not they were friends, Artemis needed support, because he would not make it through Lyrium withdrawal on his own. He would need people he trusted to keep an eye on him, people he could count on to make the right decisions.

Dorian would like to think he was one such person, because even though Artemis aggravated him to no end, he understood the pressure he was under as leader of the Inquisition, and as long as he removed any personal bias toward Artemis from the equation, he could be of service to the Inquisitor. Perhaps he could aid in him researching better ways to cope with his symptoms so that he could carry out his duties as Inquisitor without having to go back to taking it.

He’d traded constant pain from the mark on his hand for headaches, stomach cramps, nausea and vomiting, fever and night sweats, possibly insomnia as well. But it was that or continuing his use of Lyrium, which clouded his mind, kept it in a fog, and made him cold and unforgiving toward mages and all things magic, then would slowly erode his mind until all that was left was madness. He understood why he would want to stop taking it immediately, before further damage was done.

Before he’d lose the will to, and forever be lost to Lyrium’s song.

Before Dorian even realized, he’d stayed up most of the night, and as the first light of day turned the skies above a milky sort of white, Dorian was still up, sitting on a bench in front of the near extinguished campfire, propping his head in his hand and caught sight of Artemis as he came stumbling out of his tent. In only his trousers of course, as Dorian and Cassandra left him with that much at least, though stripped him of the rest of his dirty, sweaty clothing.

Dorian couldn’t help but stare at the Inquisitor absent of a shirt. He was an impressive specimen. Every muscle was so clearly defined, from years of training with a blade and wielding it in combat. Though the Inquisitor was coarse and unrefined, entirely mundane, absent of magical skill, and under different circumstances would barely keep Dorian’s attention for longer than a moment, he was still something to be admired, and certainly made Dorian’s pulse race at the sight of him.

His hair was wild, absent of the strip of leather that usually kept it pulled tight, away from his face. He ran his fingers through it, then approached and stopped short of the fire, bending to pick up a log and toss it on to feed it. He behaved as if he hadn’t noticed Dorian sitting there, but he couldn’t not see the mage in front of him, surely. Dorian watched as Artemis poured water from a skin into a pot and set in on the fire to heat to boiling, presumably for some semblance of coffee or tea.

He stood up and folded his arms, just as Artemis straightened, and put himself right in the warrior’s line of sight so as to be noticed, and frowned at the Inquisitor. He should be polite, and at least wait until the man had something to eat and drink, which might put him in better spirits, but Dorian was just so aggravated that he let slip what was on his mind that instant. He glanced around, checking to make sure they were still the only two awake, then hissed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Artemis looked up at him then, finally making eye contact. Standing this close to the man, he could see it. The difference, absent of Lyrium. His skin was slightly paler, and their were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. But the eyes, they were the biggest change about him. No longer were they crystal, the color of raw Lyrium. But a darker, _deeper_ blue. The color of the night sky. Their natural color, apparently, and they were well suited to the warrior.

They were...quite beautiful actually.

“Tell you what exactly?” Artemis questioned.

“About the Lyrium,” Dorian answered, to which the warrior looked away, in part irritation, and partly embarrassed. Obviously he’d never meant to tell him.

“Cassandra told you, I’m guessing.”

“Only after you collapsed, but yes. Though she shouldn’t have had to.” 

In a brief fit of haughtiness, the Inquisitor smirked and said, “What’s the matter, Dorian? Disappointed that someone else knew something you didn’t? Did it wound your fragile ego?”

He didn’t know what shocked him more, that the Inquisitor had actually _smiled_ , or that he’d finally called Dorian by his first name.

But now was not the time to remark on that.

“Don’t deflect,” he spat. “You asked me to come with you on this expedition, and I should have been made aware of these circumstances. It would’ve been useful to know what I should expect. I would’ve been better prepared for it.”

Artemis rolled his eyes. “Why are you acting so concerned, hmm? You make it sound as if you actually _care_ about my health. I find that very unlikely.”

Dorian seethed for a moment at how the Inquisitor spoke. But by a miracle he managed to keep from losing his temper and shouting at him, as though he’d no sense of propriety. He drew in a breath and said, “You are the Inquisitor, Artemis. Your health is everyone’s concern, and I am here to aid you. I cannot do that if I’m kept in the dark. Do not behave as if I’m some treacherous malificar plotting to exploit your vulnerabilities, and make use of them to hinder you.”

For just a moment, the Inquisitor almost looked contrite. He lowered his gaze to the fire, and the pot just beginning to bubble over the flame, a small wisp of steam escaping the rim. Perhaps that’s exactly what he’d been thinking. Though he may not have voiced his suspicions to the others, maybe secretly he did suspect Dorian was up to no good, maybe it was the Lyrium making him paranoid, or the withdrawal messing with his mind, causing him to be so mistrusting.

Maybe it was none of those things. But finally Artemis lifted his gaze and said, “It’s none of your concern. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have my breakfast in peace.”

“Well, at least you have an appetite still.”

“For the moment, yes.”

Dorian sighed, watching as the warrior shuffled to the encampment’s food stores, rummaging through them until he’d procured a small bag of rolled oats. He then returned to the campfire and proceeded to cook his meager breakfast. “Inquisitor, let me help you with your symptoms. Surely there is a better way to cope than simply throwing yourself into battle and hoping you don’t pass out–” Artemis rolled his eyes again. “If not through magic, then perhaps some other way.”

“There is nothing that _can_ be done,” Artemis dismayed. “Solas has done all he can.”

“Yes, well, I’m not Solas, and I have the knowledge of the Imperium’s most prestigious at my disposal.” Artemis flexed his jaw at the mention of Tevinter. “There are a number of scholars I can write to, and there need be no mention of my reasons for this research. And if you have any further doubts, your Spymaster is prone to reading all of my correspondence as it were, so I’m sure she’d only be too happy to tell you if I’m secretly writing other nefarious wizards about all my evil plans.”

Artemis snorted. “Fine, do whatever you wish, just please leave me alone.”

It was Dorian’s turn to roll his eyes. “What is it that I’ve done to warrant your hatred exactly?”

The Inquisitor glanced up at him, confused. “I don’t hate you.”

“Are you sure? Because it certainly seems that way. You’ve rebuffed every attempt at idle conversation, to the point that now you avoid me at Skyhold and leave every room I enter.”

“I…I haven’t been avoiding you,” he mumbled, turning his gaze back to the fire. 

“Oh contraire, my lord Inquisitor. You have.”

“I…I just…don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Right,” the mage deadpanned, unconvinced. 

But before he could further comment on this, Varric and Cassandra were rising from their tents, the dwarf no doubt awakened by the smell of food, and Cassandra simply by the hour. The Seeker was not happy to see Artemis up and about so soon after his tumble and immediately chastised him.

“What are you doing?! You should be resting still! You need your strength!” 

Then Varric chimed in. “For once, the Seeker and I are on the same page, Happy. You shouldn’t be up this soon after taking a fall like that. You’ll kill yourself if you keep going like this.”

“I’m fine,” Artemis swore, yet again. “Perfectly fine, both of you. There’s no need to worry. I just…didn’t know my limits yet, and evidently I’ve learned them. I won’t be so careless again.”

Varric sighed and looked to Dorian. “Sparkler?”

“What? Don’t look at me. You know he won’t listen, which is why I’ve made no attempt to mother him like the two of you. It’s utterly useless to try.”

The Seeker and the dwarf both had their qualms about this, but eventually they gave in and joined the Inquisitor around the campfire for breakfast. Dorian wasn’t too keen on a bowl of flavorless porridge for breakfast, but it was either that or starve, so he grit his teeth and endured the taste merely to have something in his stomach. The group was disturbingly quiet for the rest of the morning, and left to take care of the next order of business in strained silence.

Artemis was true to his word, and was not so careless as he’d been the day before. He didn’t overexert himself to such a high degree and exhaust himself unnecessarily. Instead of diving in headfirst and drawing attention to himself by taunting his foes, he approached each enemy encampment much more cautiously, singling out targets and concentrating on them while the rest of the group divided and conquered. No longer the human shield wall he was prone to be.

Around noon they stopped again to rest and regroup under a shady copse of trees. Health potions were passed around to those that needed them, and each member took stock of what provisions they had, and what they needed. Dorian could say one positive thing about this experience: At least it wasn’t the dismal alternate future of Redcliffe, or the dungeons they’d navigated to escape the castle. They were outside, in the open, and not trapped in those ominous halls.

“We should split up, into pairs,” Cassandra suggested, when they were running low on elfroot and Artemis suggested they search for more. “We’ll cover more ground that way. But don’t wander too far, and meet back at this spot in half an hour. Varric, you’re with me.”

Oh perfect, alone with the moody Inquisitor, picking elfroot, just what Dorian always wanted. He reluctantly left the comfort of the shady tree to follow the hulking figure in front of him deeper into the woods with a frown. His eyes bore holes into the Inquisitor’s back, but he made no complaints and helped him search under rock for the leafy green plants. But this was an opportunity to get some answers, provided the Inquisitor were willing to give them.

Fifteen minutes into it, he broke the silence with, “So you really mean me to believe you _haven’t_ been actively avoiding me at Skyhold?”

In front of him the Inquisitor stopped, seemed to look up at the sky for a moment, then slowly turned to look over his shoulder at Dorian.

“Why does it bother you that I don’t go out of my way to speak to you?” he asked. “Shouldn’t think a man like you would care much for the company of a man like me.”

“Well, it’s true, I don’t,” he said, before he could stop himself. Artemis huffed and turned away. “But I’d simply like to know _why_ you don’t like me.”

“You just can’t stand it can you?” Artemis asked as they walked. “Someone not liking you. Long as all gazes are fixed on the lovely Dorian Pavus, all is right in the world, yes?”

“I do believe that was sarcasm, and while it’s true that I am very lovely indeed, yes, I don’t have to have everyone’s attention, mind you. I just don’t understand what I’ve done to warrant you running away from me like a blighted corpse.” Unbelievably, he’d actually generated a small chuckle from the Inquisitor. This was strange, Artemis actually showing other emotions besides coldness and ruthlessness towards the mage. “You can’t say it’s because we have nothing to talk about.”

After a moment of thought, Artemis slowed in step, turning to walk backwards as he spoke. “Maybe I just don’t personally find you all that pleasing to look at.”

“Har.”

Artemis smirked, then turned straight ahead once more.

But then Dorian thought about it for a moment. Thought about everything Artemis had ever said to him. It was the only thing that made sense. Because it was the only thing that Dorian had never considered. He joked about Dorian not being all that _pleasing_ to look at, and the _way_ he said it…Suddenly it all clicked in Dorian’s mind, and at the sudden epiphany he actually came to a dead stop in the middle of the path, allowing Artemis to get a few paces ahead.

“You’re attracted to me,” he surmised, and Artemis also stopped. He froze solid actually, like Dorian had uttered accursed words to hear. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You find me attractive in the romantic sense, but you don’t _want_ to. Have you never felt that way for another man before? Does it frighten you? Or is it that I’m a _mage_ that concerns you? You fear I will corrupt you somehow, use my powers of seduction to poison your mind and turn you from a righteous path.”

When the Inquisitor turned, he could see Dorian’s playful smirk, but must have read it as a teasing one, because he scowled. “Do not mock me, mage,” he sneered.

“I do nothing of the sort,” Dorian said, shrugging innocently. “So is that it then? Why you avoid me at all costs? Because you don’t wish to be tempted by a mage?”

“The others should be done by now. We should head back to the clearing,” Artemis said abruptly, then shouldered past Dorian, heading back the way they came. They hadn’t been gone for that long. Artemis just didn’t want to talk to him anymore, and if Dorian were wise, he wouldn’t press the issue further. But while intelligent, yes, Dorian Pavus never claimed to be wise. And Artemis had not outright denied his claim.

Meaning he _was_ attracted to Dorian, only he didn’t wish to be.


	5. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian continues to obsess over Artemis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter probably sucks, and I don't know if I did a good enough job conveying all the emotions, but here it is.

If Dorian were smart, he’d let it alone. He wouldn’t simply throw himself at the Inquisitor like a love sick fool. He’d make himself unavailable first. He’d find the Iron Bull at the tavern when they got back to Skyhold, and he’d take the colossal brute up on his offer of a quick tumble. Let the rumors spread throughout the keep that the two of them were bed mates, and let word reach the Inquisitor’s ears. Maybe it would make him jealous, and force the warrior into action.

Or he could simply tell the Inquisitor he wasn’t interested anyway, so there was nothing to fear from Dorian. That he would not attempt to seduce the man, by any means, and let the matter drop. But while Dorian had no idea what he wanted from him, it surely wasn’t to let the matter drop, that was for certain. He couldn’t deny his attraction to the warrior, his fascination. His curiosity of the Templar– _former_ Templar, he should say–and would most certainly bed him if given the chance.

He settled for a mix of both approaches. He’d give Artemis his space for now, and would concentrate on the mission ahead of them. He wouldn’t press for conversation and risk pushing him too far out of his comfort zone, but neither would he go traipsing off to the tavern and flinging himself at the first man available. He knew that what Artemis felt was a struggle of some kind. It would take time for him to sort out, and would require patience from the Altus.

Dorian was never known to be patient in his youth. He had to have everything, and he had to have it that instant. Whatever his carnal desires, he wanted them immediately, or he’d simply go to the next man to fulfil them. And if he didn’t deny himself anything, there was nothing a desire demon could tempt him with in the Fade. Nothing he couldn’t get for himself in the waking world. Made it terribly easy to resist temptation. Nowadays, there was only one thing a desire demon could offer.

 _Love_.

Oh but there wasn’t a demon in the Fade that could magically procure love, and even if they could, Dorian wasn’t so certain he wanted it anyway.

But Lord Artemis Trevelyan of Ostwick was the sort of prize that required patience and forethought to get. So patience Dorian would have. For an interesting change, Dorian was the one to give Artemis the cold shoulder for the time being, pretending his feelings to be hurt, his pride to have been injured, and said not a word to him beyond what was necessary for the rest of their mission. Instead he spoke only to Varric and Cassandra of this or that, and let Artemis suffer in silence.

He would be the better man, let the Inquisitor’s spurn roll off his shoulders like water. Ignore it, like it meant nothing, and wait for Artemis to break, and be the first to speak between them. Or set his sights elsewhere, whichever came first. And he knew it would take some time. He really didn’t expect it to be the day after they’d arrived back at Skyhold and settled in. Dorian avoided _him_ for a change, meaning he hid in the library unless called away for something pressing.

But the very next day, as he was sitting in the armchair, book cracked open in his lap, Artemis emerged from the shadows of the hall, leaned against the door frame of the nook, and folded both arms. Dorian had heard his footsteps and looked up to see the awash expression on his face. Even since they left for Crestwood, he’d changed so much. His posture was different, mannerisms too. With each passing day without Lyrium, more and more of that cold exterior had melted.

“May I speak with you?” he all but whispered, murmuring quietly as to not disturb others in the library.

Without a word, Dorian snapped closed the book in his hand and nodded.

Artemis took a moment, the words slow to come, and he kept his darkened gaze on the nearest book shelf instead of Dorian at first. But finally he said, quietly, “I’ve never been attracted to women. I’ve always known I preferred the company of other men, and I don’t know if things are different in Tevinter, but, well, here in the south it’s generally accepted by most. At least, I’ve never met anyone opposed to it. And as a Templar, I was never expected to marry or father children.”

He paused to push himself off the frame and step into the alcove, as he’d eyed a book on the shelf he found interesting and cross the threshold to pluck it from the shelf and flip it open. His fingers smoothed over the pages like it was a treasured object. Dorian had never paid close attention to his hands before, but he noticed them now, as Artemis glanced at the book. _Tales of the Destruction of Thedas_ by Brother Genitivi. Not one of Dorian’s personal favorites.

Didn’t seem to be a favorite of Artemis’ either, at least not something he would engross himself in for hours, but he was obviously a book lover, and Dorian wondered if he’d spent many nights as a Templar huddled next to the light of a candle with a book to keep himself occupied when he wasn’t training. Or fighting, he supposed. His hands moved gingerly over the page for a moment before slowly closing the book and carefully placing it back on the shelf.

The calloused hands of a warrior. But perhaps also the skilled hands of a lover too. His words, unbeknownst to him, had given Dorian hope. It was true, things were different in Tevinter for men that loved other men. They could not simply _be_ together. But they could here? No one would mind? Artemis found _Adventures of the Black Fox_ next, which should not have been on that shelf, and was placed there by mistake. But this one he seemed to enjoy, even smiled at the title.

“I don’t imagine that everyone shares this opinion,” he continued, drawing Dorian back to the present with those words. “Some may feel different about such relationships. But everyone here at Skyhold has been accepting of it, at least. But as much as I think I might like your company, Dorian, it…simply cannot be.” He slid the novel back on the shelf as he said that, then leaned against it, his expression mournful, but not hard and unforgiving. Just disheartened by that fact.

“And why is that, Inquisitor?” he asked, leaning his head in innocent curiosity. “Is it truly because I’m a mage?”

Artemis shot him a doleful look, then sighed.

“Yes and no,” he said. “There is a reason mages in the south do not marry, or bear children. It’s not permitted. The Chantry dictates–”

“You realize you break every single doctrine of the southern Chantry simply by existing, yes?” Dorian interrupted, slowly rising to his feet. “A heretic, they called you. Murderer, traitor, usurper. _Blasphemer_. You stood where the Divine fell, and for that, the Chantry condemned you.” He stepped closer until he was right in front of Artemis, who back up in step, but didn’t flee. “You’ve freed the southern mages of their Circles, Artemis. They’re no longer under Chantry rule.”

“They’re under my protection now, yes, I know this,” he relented. “And I had no choice. We needed allies to seal the Breach and when the opportunity presented itself, I took it. I did not think Fiona would cooperate if I did not offer freedom and amnesty in exchange. And I wasn’t about to let Alexius enslave the realm in favor of what, exactly? Pursuing some ‘odd behavior’ on the Lord Seeker’s part? I couldn’t be in two places at once. I couldn’t take the chance.”

“I understand this,” Dorian nodded. “But the reasoning remains the same, Inquisitor.” He leaned in closer. “You know that mages being denied the rights of non-mages was _wrong_ , Artemis. You know that in your heart. And any thought to the contrary was the Lyrium talking. I see it in your eyes. You understand that now. So let me ask, what is it your _truly_ afraid of? If it’s not hesitance to be with another man, to be with a mage, not really…then what is it? Tell me.”

He did not demand an answer, but he pleaded for one. Because he just had to know. What was it about Dorian that scared him away? For the most part, he overlooked Dorian’s flippant attitude, saw right through his self adulation and absorption right to the core of him underneath, and he came to depend on his magic, trusted him as an ally–for the most part–and thought Dorian to be attractive. So what was it then? What was it about Dorian that Artemis found lacking?

He took a long time to answer, time during which Dorian lost himself in the deep blue of his eyes, cast in shadow in this corner of the library, like two inkwells in the darkness. Ink that the Altus was slowly being pulled into, like the pages of a good book, drowning in the murky depths. The intensity of the Inquisitor’s stare was not born of coldness or hatred, but fear of something, he was certain. Dorian so desperately wanted to know that it physically ached inside.

“What are you so afraid of?” Dorian asked again, gently this time.

Artemis licks his lips, then briefly let his eyes drop to Dorian’s. For a moment he looked like he might kiss him, but the moment only lasted a split second. There would be no passionate touches in dark corners today.

“You,” the warrior whispered, raw emotion straining his voice.

He tore himself away from Dorian so abruptly that the Altus thought he might fall. As if Artemis had been the only thing holding him up. He had to lean against the shelf for support as footsteps receded and the Inquisitor rushed away like he’d been called to a meeting in the war room, making haste. He stared blankly at the wall, stunned into silence, as he turned that word over in his mind. Over and over. Again and again, until the word didn’t even make sense to him anymore.

 _You_.

It was that simple. 

Artemis was afraid of Dorian.

Perhaps for all the same reasons Dorian had ever felt fear. Because falling in love was a deep, dark abyss, from which there was no emerging on the other side clean. It came in the form of kindness and generosity and left the beholder in bitterness and despair. It was fool’s gold. An empty promise. A bleeding wound that never healed. A _curse_ , nothing more, and in that one simple word, Artemis had said everything. Only bad things would come of this, he was convinced.

They shouldn’t get attached. They shouldn’t be involved. 

They shouldn’t fall in love.

And Artemis feared they might.

Dorian swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to have been a complete fool. Because for some reason, despite all warning against it, he still felt the same. He still desired the Inquisitor for whatever stupid fucking reason. Maybe to sate some morbid curiosity on his part, or simply to scratch an itch, but it didn’t rightly matter why. Dorian Pavus was still under Artemis Trevelyan’s spell, and desperately wished to explore the implications of it.

“I’ve gone mad,” he whispered to the books. “Completely mad, haven’t I?”

The books didn’t answer, but that was probably a good thing, because if books ever started talking to him, he’d know for certain he’d lost his mind.


	6. Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian consults the Inquisition's Commander on how to treat Artemis' condition.

He visited the Commander’s tower that afternoon. In the weeks they’d been absent, bringing some stability to the town of Crestwood, many improvements had been made to the keep, and much of the ramparts repaired. There was now a functioning walkway leading from the library tower directly to the watch tower where Cullen had set up post. Once he found the correct door, it was no trouble at all for Dorian to find the Commander’s office and barge in.

By now, Cullen was very used to people barging into his office, either passing through as they made their way across the battlements to elsewhere in the keep, or bursting in without knocking to deliver a report to his desk for signing. The desk he currently loomed over, studying the map upon it. He didn’t even look up when Dorian entered the space, closing the door behind him and casually leaning against it, folding his arms. But he did look up when he heard the mage’s voice. 

“I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess that _you’re_ the Templar that encouraged Artemis to stop taking Lyrium,” he said.

At this, Cullen straightened, abandoning the map in favor of fixing his gaze upon Dorian. He frowned, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if unsure of where the Altus was going with this. “Before you argue against this,” he began, shifting into that authoritative stance he used when addressing soldiers under his command that he was well known for, “Keep in mind that where it concerns the Inquisitor’s mental state, it was his own choice to make, and no one forced him.”

Dorian didn’t hear a denial in that, meaning Cullen was indeed the former Templar that so far had survived the gruesome trial by fire that was Lyrium withdrawal, that gave Artemis hope that he might survive it as well. Oh but Cullen thought he meant to argue this? “No one is arguing against it, Commander,” he assured, stepping into the room and meeting Cullen at the desk. “I merely wished to discuss your own experience with it, if you wouldn’t mind indulging me.”

“Why…would you want to know that?”

“I simply mean to understand. Artemis’ symptoms are pragmatic,” _Not unlike the Inquisitor himself_ , he added in his head, “And in order to treat him properly, I wish to better understand the process.”

“You mean you wish to help him?” Cullen asked, surprised by this.

“I’ve already made some inquiries - discreetly of course, no mention of names - but I wished to hear your account of it as well. Have you spoken to Artemis about your experience? Is he truly aware of what he’ll go through over the new several months? Does he know what to expect?”

“Uh…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in thought for a moment before answering Dorian’s string of questions. “To be honest I…advised _against_ it, actually. I did not think the Inquisitor would be strong enough to handle the mental and physical duress it would put him through, on top of his duties to the Inquisition. He’s already under so much stress. I did not think it wise to put himself through more, on a vain hope he might be free of his addiction one day.”

“But _you_ could handle it,” Dorian pointed out. “And Artemis took this as encouragement, I assume?”

Cullen sighed. “I barely survived those first few weeks of it,” he confessed. “I think the only reason I didn’t give in to temptation was because I had no choice but to go without it. We were scarce of supplies at Haven, and what small stores of Lyrium we possessed I thought were much better spent being divided among those that would go out and fight. My own need for Lyrium was secondary, as my position of Commander kept me stationed at Haven.”

“But after that?” Dorian asked.

“After that, my biggest struggle was resisting temptation. A battle I’m still fighting, at the moment, and will likely continue to fight for quite some time, I’m afraid. There’s still the occasional aches and pains, fatigue, and sleepless nights, but what’s worse are the cravings. They never go away.”

“Did you have help? Any healers that assisted you with this? Any techniques I could explore?”

Cullen paused again before he answered, eyes passing over Dorian for a moment. A small bemused smirk crept into his features. “You’re truly invested in this, aren’t you?” he asked. “You truly mean to help the Inquisitor through this?”

“Of course I do,” Dorian declared, lifting his chin defiantly, because he sensed the Commander didn’t think he really could. He greatly underestimated the mage’s abilities, if so.

“There wouldn’t be an ulterior motive for that, would there?” Cullen asked, still smirking.

“What, you mean besides the obvious? That Lord Trevelyan’s survival is crucial to our mission, and his ability to close rifts highly depends on his health and well being, as well as the stability of his state of mind?” Cullen simply nodded. Dorian sighed. “Kaffas! Yes, alright, fine! I care about him. Is that what you wanted to hear? That my reasons for being concerned are personal, and are not in fact merely professional, so that is why I’ve come to question you. Satisfied?”

The Commander chuckled and shook his head. “I didn’t require an answer. I was merely curious. But to what you asked before, no, I did not have help. I suffered through my symptoms in silence. I did not wish to draw attention to myself because I wasn’t so certain I would succeed, and I didn’t wish to give anyone false hope that it was possible. But in Artemis’ case, the worst of it has passed. The symptoms will lessen in their intensity over time. He’ll only need to resist taking it.”

“And how would he do that?”

Cullen shrugged. “At a guess, a strong enough mental fortitude. Faith, perhaps. The will to survive it. My…” He ahemed. “My circumstances were unique. But so far my hopes of freeing the Order from its Lyrium leash help to motivate me, and my work with the Inquisition keeps me distracted enough. Stress or worries will increase his chances of turning back to it, but having something to draw his focus and keep him occupied will help. Too long spent with his own thoughts might drag him under.”

Dorian rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, considering all that. It was what Dorian feared the most. That there really _wouldn’t_ be anything he could do about it. Relieve stress? He could think of a few ways to do that, but none of them would appeal to a man like Artemis Trevelyan. He feared he might only cause the man even _more_ stress if even attempting to broach that subject with him again. But across from him, Cullen continued speaking.

“Without Lyrium, my mind sometimes takes me to dark places,” he admitted. “I don’t know if the same can be said with Inquisitor Trevelyan, but I do know that his biggest downfall would be temptation.”

Now that, Dorian could relate to, being a mage.

“Well, at least on that front, he and I have something in common, don’t we? Resisting temptation, that is.”

“Yes,” Cullen nodded in agreement. “I could not compare the struggle to resisting the demons in the Fade, but…sometimes our own inner demons can be far worse.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Yes, well, there is much that still haunts me. Will always haunt me. I can only hope that over time, my work with the Inquisition will erase those memories, and replace them with something more worthwhile.”...

Dorian left Cullen’s office not long after the Commander voiced such a statement, and continued to muse upon everything he’d been told as he made his way to the herb garden outside the Great Hall. There, an herbalist named Elan tended the medicinal plants that grew in pots amid the Sisters’ blooming flowers and creeping vines. She could often be found there, if nowhere else, and as a potions maker, Dorian needed her advice. 

He would do well to avoid anything that held small traces of Lyrium, as that would only feed his addiction, but if something could be strained to make tincture that would help to lessen the severity of the worst of Artemis’ symptoms, Dorian should like to know, so he consulted the potions maker that had replaced Adan since moving to Skyhold. Elan was a kind woman, despite being an elf, who were usually the most begrudging against Tevinter, as their ancestors had been enslaved by his.

Elan had no care where anyone was from, so long as they did their part to assist the Inquisition in whatever capacity they were able, they earned some merit in her eyes. She even joked with him, smirking and saying, “Well if it isn’t the evil Magister come to call on me,” when he approached, making him snort. Her smile widened. “How can I help you, Mister Pavus?” she then asked, and he procured the list he’d made of ingredients he would explore the uses of.

Elan was extremely helpful in concocting a potion that would hopefully ease some of the strain put on the Inquisitor, absent of Lyrium. He made no mention of names when asked who it was for, simply said, “For a friend,” which could have been anyone. The potion itself would stave off headaches and nausea, which also could’ve been caused by any number of things, so Dorian hadn’t a thought that anyone would suspect what he was really up to that day.

And that night, he hid the potion beneath a napkin on a tray piled high with cakes and all the niceties of tea, cream, honey, and sugar, because he had no idea how Artemis preferred it, and carted the tray to the Inquisitor’s quarters. He never locked the door, always liked to be available should a matter of urgency require his attention, so Dorian had no trouble entering the tower above the Great Hall and climbing the steps, but just to be polite, he cleared his throat on the landing.

Artemis looked up at his approach, and wrinkled his brow in confusion. He was shirtless at his desk–as if Dorian _needed_ the distraction at the moment–and pouring over a stack of reports left by the war council, probably waiting for his signature while he was away in Crestwood. “I don’t remember making an appointment for tea,” he said, as Dorian crossed the threshold and approached the elaborate oak desk in the corner. He set the tray on it, and upturned the china.

“We didn’t,” he said. “Just thought I’d drop by unannounced and grace you with my lovely face.”

Artemis’ eyes dimmed, as if he found Dorian’s comment less than amusing, which Dorian had grown quite used to by now. “Ah, so my memory isn’t failing me then. Suppose I can scratch that off the list of possible symptoms of withdrawal.”

“I suppose you can, yes,” Dorian commented as he arranged the tray, then lifted the pot to take it over to the fireplace and set it on to boil. Despite his scowl, at least Artemis wasn’t tossing him out of his room yet, which was a good sign. Probably because though he loathed to admit to it, he _did_ desire Dorian’s company in whatever way he could have it, and he truly didn’t avoid Dorian because he despised him. Only made it seem that way, from the mage’s perspective.

Dorian returned to the desk and lifted the napkin, revealing the true reason for his visit. He held up the vial in the candlelight for Artemis to see. “What is that?” he asked.

“Why it’s a potion, of course,” Dorian answered. “Something Elan and I devised earlier that, in theory, should help with your symptoms.Or at least, nullify a few of them, and make it easier for you to work. If you think it to be poison, I’d be happy to tell you everything that’s in it, of course.” Artemis gave him another of his derisive stares. Dorian merely smiled glibly in return. “Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the taste. Thus the tea and cakes. They’re quite nice.”

Artemis let those midnight eyes of his slide down to the items on the tray, pouring over each, before slowly meeting Dorian’s again. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he asked, grunting when he pushed himself out of the chair and to his feet.

Dorian blinked in confusion. “I do believe the potion _is_ to make it easier for you, actually.”

“I wasn’t referring to my condition,” Artemis grumbled as he stepped around the desk and in the time it took for him to close each of the balcony doors to keep out the chill, which was very kind of him to do, Dorian had gathered his meaning by that statement. Why, only just earlier that day he’d made his argument that they shouldn’t be together, and now here was Dorian visiting his private quarters at sundown. But still, at no point did Artemis turn him away.

He _wanted_ Dorian to chase him, didn’t he? Maybe he just didn’t realize it. His mind had yet to make the connection that he wanted Dorian to prove him wrong, wanted Dorian to pursue him still, despite all hesitation to initiate the relationship. “I don’t hear a dismissal anywhere in that,” the mage remarked, as Artemis approached the desk once more, now within arms reach. Standing this close, Dorian could see just the barest hint of a smile forming.

“No, I suppose you’re right, that wasn’t one, was it?”

Dorian put on his brightest smile and gestured to the tray.

“So, my dear Inquisitor, how do take your tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this will continue in the next chapter. Lots of sexual tension coming up next.


	7. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both the author and the character regret a ton of shit.

“I don’t normally go out of my way to drink tea,” Artemis admitted, shuffling through the papers on his desk, the dim light from the fireplace and the candles scattered about making his small smirk seem quite devious just then, though likely it wasn’t meant to be. Dorian shrugged at the statement, and began preparing tea for the Inquisitor in the same manner that he would prepare it for himself. Normally, Dorian didn’t drink tea very often either, so they had that in common.

Dorian got a terrible reaction when ingesting the leaves most commonly used for tea in Tevinter, so normally he avoided it, and rather acquired a strong distaste of it, but there in the south they used something different entirely, which was safe for him to drink. When the tea pot whistled over the fire he stooped to collect it, wrapping the cloth napkin around the handle to keep from burning his hand. When he returned, Artemis was holding up the potion vial in the candlelight.

“For headaches and nausea,” Dorian told him, as he strained the tea leaves. “It’s a common tincture. Effective under normal circumstances. Elan recommended it. Shall we see if it works for you as well?”

Artemis grimaced at the vial, but then slowly nodded. He opened the bottle and sniffed its contents, making yet another disgusted face at the smell, but then shrugged and downed it in one go. It wasn’t much, barely more than a thimble, but the taste had to have been dreadful. Artemis smacked his lips repeatedly and shuddered. “It’s disgusting,” he said needlessly, and Dorian chuckled. He’d gathered that much by the lemon sour expression on the Inquisitor’s face.

He watched Artemis swipe one of the many dessert cakes from the tray and pop it in his mouth, likely just to dampen the horrid flavor of the potion. After swallowing, he asked, “How long ‘til the potion takes effect?”

“Mmm, give or take twenty minutes?” Dorian answered, to which he nodded.

“Why have you _really_ come here, Dorian?” Artemis then asked, changing the subject.

Dorian let the sound of his own name hover in the air between them for a moment. It sounded nice, with that Marcher lilt accentuating the D and extending the R in such a way that gave the Altus goosebumps. Suddenly wishing he’d go back to calling him anything but his first name, because it was such a turn-on. Dorian mocked innocence, placing a hand on his chest. “Why to simply give you the potion, of course. What makes you think I have an ulterior motive?”

Artemis drop his gaze for a second. “That’s just it though. You could have given it to Cassandra, or Varric, or anyone else. Yet you deliver it to me in person. Why’s that?”

Their eyes met again, and the mage knew that instant he’d been had. Artemis could see right through any attempts to convey otherwise. He knew precisely why Dorian had come to his quarters in person. Because try as he might, Dorian just couldn’t stay away from him for some reason, despite all the warning bells going off in his head. Artemis didn’t need an answer. It had already been provided for him. He just wanted Dorian to say it aloud. Wanted to hear the words.

Dorian was tempted to say them.

_I want you._

_There are moments I can’t stand you, that you aggravate me to no end, yet I want you all the same._

“I don’t see any reason why we can’t at least be friends,” he said instead. “Get to know one another, outside of our duties. Continuing to avoid one another might make others suspect we despise each other. But that’s not true, now is it?” He slowly stepped around the desk, watching Artemis shift a little in his seat at Dorian’s approach, then leaned against the surface nearby, gazing down at the warrior. “You don’t avoid me because you despise me, do you, Inquisitor?”

“No,” he stated simply, his voice hallow, but his eyes were alight and his chest heaved as if he were excited. Dorian expected his heart to be pounding just like the mage’s. Rarely were they ever in such close proximity, and now Dorian towered over him, his knee mere inches from Artemis’ thigh. “But this is a very terrible idea,” the Inquisitor added, his voice just slightly stilted, straining. “We shouldn’t be alone together in my chambers like this, Dorian.”

The Altus smirked devilishly. 

“You make it sound so dangerous, Inquisitor. You should know I happen to _like_ danger.”

And danger was precisely what he’d bargained for. He tensed when unexpectedly Artemis shot out of the chair and stood before Dorian, glaring down at him. Were there any real danger, it would be simple enough to send a jolt of lightning through him, but he wagered the Inquisitor would be faster, and would already have silenced his magic before Dorian could so much as think to cast it. He didn’t of course, simply rose to his feet, but then did something that lit Dorian ablaze.

He grabbed Dorian’s hips and hoisted him onto the desk, without so much as a care for the items splayed over its surface. Dorian had to place both hands on it to keep from tipping, knocking over inkwells and a small statue that had been used as a paper weight. He settled between Dorian’s thighs and leaned in, pressing both hands over Dorian’s, keeping him pinned in place, his mouth a mere fraction of an inch from the mage’s. They’d never been this close before.

“That’s why you like it, isn’t it?” Artemis whispered. “That’s why you like antagonizing me so much. You like the thrill of it, yes?”

This close to Artemis, he could smell his soap. Faint traces of wood smoke from the hearth, and pipe tobacco as well. Perhaps a newly acquired vice to take his mind off Lyrium. Underneath all that, a hint of something that was purely the Inquisitor. Dorian’s senses welcomed the onslaught of masculine scents. For a warrior like Artemis to reek of floral scented perfumes just didn’t fit. Dorian had grown quite accustomed to such things in Tevinter.

Fashionable robes, tailored from rich embroidered fabrics, adorned in gold and glittering jewels. Smelling of lavender maybe. Not unlike Val Royeaux in Orlais, he imagined, but the men of Tevinter had far better taste in clothing. Dorian had only ever gotten his fill of earthly types from the soporati he encountered in seedy brothels and smoke filled taverns in the poverty districts. You would rarely ever find a man of Artemis’ caliper in the upper class of society in the Imperium.

“And what if I do?” he said, breathlessly, to the Inquisitor’s question. 

It would be but a fraction of an inch he’d need to move to capture that mouth with his. But Dorian couldn’t, for some reason. Perhaps it was because he found the prospect of Artemis being the one to initiate contact to be far more satisfying. For the Inquisitor to be the one to cave, to give in to his desire for the mage, lose all inhibitions and surrender to it. To have won, effectively, if what game they played _could_ actually be won by either side, of which Dorian doubted.

But nevertheless, he received no victory that time around, as Artemis huffed and drew away, straightening before the mage.

“It’s all a game to you, isn’t it?” he asked, turning and abandoning Dorian perched atop his desk in favor of opening the nearest balcony door, letting in the chill. Then he stood, hand on the door handle, staring out at the view of the Frostbacks and the night sky, pinching his lips together in a frown. Dorian was left momentarily speechless, having come so close to what he desired, only to have it ripped away from him so abruptly. He swallowed, realizing his mouth was quite dry.

“I’m obsessed with you,” Artemis said to the night, eyes clouded and distant. This roused Dorian out of his stupor. He clambered of the desk and stepped closer, following Artemis as he exited the room, escaping onto the balcony. “Have been from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he continued, placing both hands on the railing. Dorian’s eyes focused on the back of his dark head, hanging on his every word. “You’re all I can think about, day and night. You even visit me in my dreams. 

You infuriate me, drive me to the point of absolute madness whenever I am near you, yet…I can’t help but feel this way. I have been taught my whole life that I could never care for a mage. That I could never act on what I feel. But lately…” He sighed. “Lately I had begun to think maybe…maybe it was possible. Maybe the Chantry got it wrong. And after we spoke in the library I thought…maybe I had been wrong as well. I _want_ to be wrong, Dorian. I truly do, but…”

“Artemis,” Dorian heard himself whisper, unsure if he’d meant to be consoling or encouraging, or what, thoughtless as to how to respond to the Inquisitor’s confession.

In front of him Artemis’ voice hardened into stone, and Dorian imagined his expression would be the same if he turned around. “But then to hear that all I am to you is a cheap thrill,” he spoke. “I’m an amusement to you. You find it entertaining. You toy with me like a mere trinket, and it excites you, doesn’t it?” He chose that moment to turn and face Dorian, giving him precious little time to mask his expression with one of aloofness. “What would you even do with me if you had me?”

Dorian opened his mouth, but then stupidly closed it again, without answering.

He realized he’d made a grave mistake. He’d only meant to be teasing, because indeed he found it quite thrilling to taunt the warrior the way he did, but in his err, he’d made a mockery of the Inquisitor’s feelings for him, feelings he already struggled to reconcile with. He’d thought they were finally getting somewhere, finally breaking through this wall that had stood between them, and he could still feel the warmth of Artemis’ skin against his own even now.

A feeling that would likely haunt his own dreams.

But all he’d managed to accomplish was turn the Inquisitor even _colder_ toward him, not the opposite. He’d behaved no differently than his own family had to him, once upon a time. Trussing him up like a plaything and putting him on display. He would’ve been no more than a puppet, had he stayed with the Pavus family in Qarinus, and thus he’d fled to Minrathous when given the opportunity. To avoid being someone’s amusement, and to look at himself, he knew he’d feel only shame and disgust.

But when he went to make some sort of apologetic reply to Artemis, he was met with only cold dismissal.

“Thank you kindly for your assistance, Lord Pavus. You may see yourself out.” Dorian’s jaw flexed of its own accord in his irritation. But he didn’t argue, merely turned and reentered the room they’d come from and crossed the floor. “You may take that with you,” Artemis added, as he’d entered the room behind him and approached the desk, pointing to the tray. Dorian stared at it, very tempted to take the whole thing and launch it at Artemis, but he managed to refrain.

“It was not for my benefit, Inquisitor,” he said stiffly. 

He turned to leave again, but for whatever reason, Artemis decided to drive in the final nail of the proverbial coffin when he said, “I’m sure the Iron Bull wouldn’t care if you played games with him like that. All he really wants from anyone is a good easy fuck. You look like just the type.” At such a remark, Dorian was finally irritated enough to let it show, and the hearth flames flashed briefly with wild magic as he shot Artemis a glare as hot as his temper before leaving.

Yes, a grave mistake he’d made ever coming there tonight, indeed.

He clenched both fists the whole way down the stairs, any means of apology effectively dying on his lips, never to be resurrected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind couch*


	8. Doubled

Days later, Dorian was still torturing himself over that last encounter with Artemis. He certainly didn’t take him up on his suggestion that he go find the Iron Bull to sort himself out, though he was tempted. The Qunari brute certainly knew how to scratch an itch, or so the rumor mill would have him believe. All those servants that always left his quarters quite satisfied were proof enough. But try as he might, he couldn’t take his mind off the Inquisitor still.

He was back to giving Artemis the silent treatment, and once more hiding in the library to avoid him. Not that the Inquisitor seemed to care, as he also avoided Dorian. Or, at least, that was to say he never sought him out, and found no excuse to even visit the tower, let alone happen upon Dorian, even by accident. If not for seeing him at mealtimes in the Great Hall, Dorian would wonder if he were even alive still, as he’d been so nonexistent to the mage.

But Dorian was not heartless, and though he refused to speak to Artemis directly, he had various people run his errands and deliver potions to him on his behalf. His Lyrium withdrawal was still a concern to the mage, and he would not have the Inquisition suffer for it. If Artemis fell ill, they were all doomed. All small price to pay in the long run was Dorian’s fragile ego and selfish pride. It would not do to have a deathly Herald of Andraste, if they hoped to win this war.

Currently, he perused the nearest shelf for a book he hadn’t already read from cover to cover a hundred times, just to pass the time, his mind constantly wandering to that head of obsidian hair that reached the center of Artemis’ back, and two cerulean eyes that bore into his so intensely, when faintly he heard footsteps on the stairs. He was hardly paying attention though, and didn’t see the gentleman walking past his nook, but stopping and turning back to peek inside.

He didn’t notice until he was standing just behind him, arms folded, staring at Dorian’s back. He felt as if he were being watched just then, and quickly turned around to see a tall, broad shouldered man with short black hair and a clean shaven face, and blinked rapidly in surprise. _Artemis?!_ Why, he’d shaved his face and cut his hair! Dorian was taken aback for a moment by his appearance, and let his eyes wander over him for a second or two, in appreciation and awe.

He wore a navy blue silk shirt that was partially splayed open at the breast, revealing a smattering of dark hair, and bringing out the blue of his eyes. Black trousers and dark leather boots completed the look and Dorian cocked his head to the side in confusion at it. He was dressed entirely too spectacularly to have come up with this wardrobe choice all on his own. Had Josephine dressed him today? Were they to be entertaining some visiting noble this afternoon?

At any rate, he looked incredible. Dare he hope that Artemis dressed like this purely for Dorian’s own benefit? His eyes slowly made their way back up to the Inquisitor’s face and once more he blinked. He had no idea the man was so incredibly handsome under all that scruff. Such a strong jaw, perfectly set on his face. A dimpled chin. But the most interesting thing about this encounter had to be how openly Artemis appraised him just then as well. He’d never seen such a lustful glint in his eyes before.

The corner of his lip curled upward in a rakish smile as blue eyes darted over Dorian’s appearance, and while it was quite flattering, there was something a little off about this encounter. Shouldn’t Artemis be angry with him still? Had he not mistaken Dorian’s playful nature as one of mockery? Remembering that he too was suppose to be angry at the Inquisitor, he quickly composed himself, closing off from the man with a frown, turning back to the books on the shelf.

“Ah, Inquisitor. Come to grovel, I see,” Dorian quipped, hearing a small huff of amusement in response.

“And so what if I have?” Artemis asked carefully, and judging by his cadence, he’d stepped closer. 

Dorian glanced behind him. “It’s ill-effective, I’m afraid,” he sighed. “Your charms won’t work on me, no matter how handsome you look today.”

“Well, you can’t fault me for trying,” Artemis shrugged.

This encounter was awfully strange. This wasn’t Artemis’ normal response to Dorian’s shrewdness. Typically, the man scoffed at whatever rueful comment he made, and after their conversation the other night, getting so angry with Dorian for behaving as if this were all a _game_ between them, the Altus expected Artemis to get angry at him for being glib. His heart sped up when Artemis put his hand on the bookshelf above him, and pressed against him dangerously close.

Dorian whipped around. “Your Worship? What are doing?”

Artemis chuckled at him. _Chuckled!_ “What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asked, cheekily.

“What on earth has gotten into you?”

_Were his shoulders always this narrow?_

Artemis bit his lip, staring down at Dorian’s own, like he contemplated kissing him just then. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just distracted by how beautiful you are, that’s all.”

Alright, now _this_ was odd. Dorian swallowed nervously at that statement, purred so deliciously at him, wondering if perhaps he were dreaming right now, and this was not actually Artemis, but in fact a desire demon masquerading as the Inquisitor to fool him. It would not be the first of such instances to occur, and would make sense as to why he was dressed so fancifully, and behaved in such a surprisingly seductive manner. Because Dorian wasn’t actually awake, and this wasn’t real.

“Damn,” this strange Artemis cursed, sneaking an arm around Dorian. “My brother is one lucky bastard,” he murmured. Then he leaned in for a kiss.

“What–”

“ _Apollo!!_ ”

Dorian jolted at the sound of another voice, similar, but much louder and slightly deeper. Then his eyes widened at the much more familiar appearance of the _real_ Artemis Trevelyan that he’d come to expect. Long unruly hair, scruffy beard, silverite and black samite diciple’s armor. He was standing in the hallway, clenching both fists, looking as if he might murder them both. Then Dorian’s eyes made their way back to the stranger he’d almost kissed, who quickly backed away. 

_Dear Maker, did I almost just…_

“Artemis?!” he gaped, his eyes darting back and forth between both strikingly similar men. “Then–then who is…”

“Apologies, brother,” the man called Apollo amended sweetly, letting out a soft chuckle. “I was merely introducing myself to your lovely friend, here. He’s ever so delightful.”

“I _bet_ you were,” Artemis sneered at him. “Need I remind you that I am in charge here, and your stay at Skyhold Keep is entirely dependent on my approval?”

“Relax, Artie,” Apollo sighed, waving him off. “I was only flirting with the man. It was perfectly harmless, and besides, I would never hurt one of my own.” He turned back to Dorian, smiling still. “It was a pleasure to have met, _mon cher_. I look forward to speaking again soon.” He gave a slight bow of the head, and then parted ways, shooting Dorian a wink before leaving him alone with the real Artemis he’d confused him for. The Inquisitor turned his hardened gaze to Dorian next, who glared right back.

“Who in the bloody Void was that?!” he demanded, pointing to the empty stairwell he’d taken.

“My twin brother, Apollo,” Artemis answered. Ah. It all made sense then. A twin, eh? “He arrived this afternoon.”

“Well you could’ve warned me he was coming!” Dorian snapped. “I mistook him for _you_!”

Artemis’ gaze softened at that, and he blinked several times. “You…you mean you thought he was me?”

“Yes!” Dorian exclaimed. “The cheeky bastard let me believe it too! I nearly kissed a perfect stranger!”

Artemis stared for a moment still, seeming to work something over in his mind. “Wait, so you…nearly kissed him, because you thought he was _me_?”

“Yes!” Dorian asserted again. “And had I been given sufficient warning, I might’ve kept myself from looking like a complete and utter fool just now!”

The Inquisitor ducked his chin contritely. “Apologies, Dorian. I…was actually on my way here to inform you of his arrival. Obviously I was a moment too late.”

Dorian huffed, suddenly finding himself unable to stay mad at the sheepish look on Artemis’ face. “It’s quite alright,” Dorian said, stiffening his posture to his more usual one of prominence and posterity, straightening his tunic. “You’re forgiven this time.” Artemis nodded his head, then shifted about awkwardly for a second, scratching the back of his head. Indeed, this was awkward. “You never mentioned having a brother before. How long will he be staying at Skyhold?”

Artemis shrugged. “Well, indefinitely, I imagine. He’s come to join the Inquisition, or so he claims.”

“So he claims?”

Artemis nodded, moving to step further inside the alcove and sat down on Dorian’s cushioned arm chair, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “He and I fought against one another in the Mage-Templar war,” he enlightened then, intriguing Dorian at such a revelation.

“He’s a mage, then?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, so that’s what he meant by never harming his own kind.”

“Yes. He was a Senior Enchanter at Ostwick, and he’s very powerful. He’s also very willful, as you’ve just been given a taste of. Myself being a Templar, and Apollo a mage, not only did we have greatly differing opinions of Chantry politics, but when the Circles rebelled, we were pitted against one another on the battlefield as well. But he is fiercely loyal to Fiona, and will make a good ally in the fight against Corypheus, though his personal bias towards me may be a hindrance.”

“Clearly he _adores_ you,” Dorian derided sarcastically.

Artemis huffed, rolling his eyes and making a ‘tch’ sound under his breath. Ah yes, now _that_ was the sort of reaction Dorian was familiar with. Evidently these two were polar opposite in personality as well. Where Artemis was closed off and recluse, Apollo must’ve been the life of every party back home in the Free Marches. “He enjoys trying to get under my skin,” Artemis added, sneering at the bookshelf. “In every way he could ever get away with. A lot like you, I suppose.”

Dorian tisked. “Yes, well, I only do so to keep from dying of sheer boredom in this dreary castle,” he remarked. “Though grating on your nerves does give the man a certain appeal.”

Artemis glanced up at him.

“Alike as you may be, and as charming as he may seem, you’d do well to avoid him, Dorian.” The mage bit his lip at that. Hearing his name on those lips again. He couldn’t be sure, but could it mean that Artemis still had feelings for Dorian? Well, Dorian hadn’t completely gotten over it yet, and wasn’t up for forgiving him, even if that were the case. He didn’t like the idea of driving the blade in deeper, but he was at least owed a little payback for the other night.

“What is there to be concerned with, really?” Dorian asked, raising a brow. “I’m a mage, he’s a mage. I have more in common with him than you, yes? Added to the fact that he’s rakishly handsome and remarkably glib. I’m sure he and I will get along just swimmingly.”

Artemis scowled. “You’re only saying that because you’re still pissed at me,” he said, not buying Dorian’s act for a second. The mage feigned indifference with a shrug, but beneath his beige colored tunic his heart pounded rapidly. Artemis rose to his feet, straightening his attire. “Just be careful with him, Dorian,” he warned, then let his eyes wander shamelessly over the mage when he added, “Pretty packages wrapped in charm and wit aren’t always what they seem.”

He walked away at that, leaving Dorian to ponder.

_And then there were two..._


	9. Delighted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian receives a _proper_ introduction.

That night, the Ambassador of the Inquisition arranged a little soirée to welcome Artemis’ brother into the fold, to her utmost delight as she greatly enjoyed throwing parties. She was a master at hosting them as well. If Corypheus and his General could ever be persuaded to attend a gala, Dorian wouldn’t doubt that the war could be won simply by Lady Josephine charming their socks off all evening. But speaking of charming individuals…Apollo had proved Dorian’s suspicions correct. He was indeed the life of the party.

Anyone of interest had been invited, so the Great Hall was filled with treasured members of the Inquisition, including Artemis’ own companions, as well as the Inquisition’s council of advisers. Apollo was currently holding a goblet of wine and entertaining Lady Vivienne with conversation, and Dorian had never seen the Madame show anyone such genuine enthusiasm while conversing before. But she smiled and laughed at all his jokes, as did any nearby listening. Everyone around him seemed so enchanted by the man.

Maryden the Bard had left the homely atmosphere of the Herald’s Rest and graced them all with her presence in the dining hall, providing music as an accompaniment to all the chatter. Cakes and candies, as well as a plethora of delectable dishes had been served, each crafted with care by their beloved Cook for the occasion. Wine flowed from every glass, and there wasn’t a dull moment throughout. Even Enchanter Fiona managed to drag herself away from her charges long enough to attend. But of course she would, given the guest of honor was a mage.

My, but Apollo certainly knew how to win a crowd. Everyone found him delightful. He was charming and witty, flirtatious as well. With men and women alike. Though the rare few, like Varric and Solas, simply found him amusing, but weren’t moved in the slightest by his flawless execution of hither-to advances. Cassandra blushed furiously when he glided across the room to introduce himself, though she didn’t look too happy about having been caused to feel flush. But the woman couldn’t properly swoon to save her neck, poor thing.

It appeared that in every sense of the notion, Apollo Trevelyan was the polar opposite of his broodier counterpart, Artemis, who currently reclined in his throne, one boot resting upon an adjacent knee as he clutched his wine goblet, watching the scene as it transpired. Looking every bit the part of intimidating leader as he lounged, Cullen standing at his side like a loyal hound, keeping the man company. Dorian could see them incline their heads toward one another, and their lips move on occasion, meaning they were sharing idle conversation.

Cullen looked no more pleased to be in attendance than the Inquisitor, but of course, the Commander was not one for social events. His posture was ever so stiff in that fur mantle he wore, back straight as a board. The two looked quite the pair atop the dais. Leliana currently perched on the opposite side, but was frequently seen moving about the room and engaging with those in attendance before now. She watched the room carefully like she was waiting for an assassin to strike, but when didn’t she, really? So paranoid, that one.

Across the dining room, Dorian had tucked himself into a comfortable corner nearest the roaring hearth, and hoarded his drink like someone might steal it away from him. Most everyone avoided him, but for once he wasn’t the victim of a curious stare, or the occasional whisper, for the man that currently had all eyes resting on him was not Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. But the garishly handsome Ostwicker that got all the attention tonight. Dorian would be jealous, but he rather relished in being obscure for the moment.

Only Varric pestered him with conversation, which the Altus didn’t mind so much, content to listen to whatever comments Varric had to make. Unlike most everyone else, Varric was a bit skeptical of Apollo’s sudden appearance at Skyhold, and being the curious cat, was simply itching to know the story behind the apparent rivalry between the brothers. Clearly there was dissent somewhere in their past. Surely it wasn’t only that they were a mage and a former Templar that set them apart. Varric was convinced there was more to the tale.

But then he wandered away to bother someone else, so Dorian was left quite bereft for a moment, sipping his wine, when none other than Enchanter Trevelyan finally approached him. The hair on Dorian’s neck raised at Apollo’s approach. He was still a bit flustered by how he’d nearly kissed the man - in public, no less - and found himself blushing, so he looked away as if no more than enamoured by the drink in his hand. Apollo smiled at him like the cat that ate the canary for a moment, setting him on edge.

Dorian didn’t know why, but something about the man bothered him to some degree. Perhaps it was that bit of mischief he’d pulled earlier in the library, but something about the man unsettled Dorian. It was ironic, really. One would think it would be the calloused Templar that would raise Dorian’s hackles, not the magical counterpart. But Dorian pretended it was just Apollo’s magical aura that made his skin tingle, and did his best to return the friendly smile with one of his own. “Ah, Enchanter Trevelyan,” he greeted, stressing the word ‘enchanter’.

“Apollo, please. You’re Dorian, right?” he said, stretching out his hand for a shake. To Dorian’s complete mortification, he turned it over to plant a kiss on his knuckles. “A pleasure to see you again, mon cher.”

“Delighted, of course,” Dorian lied, slowly withdrawing his hand, feeling a faint sense of trepidation at how openly affectionate Apollo seemed to be. _My, how different from Tevinter_ , he thought. “How nice to finally receive a _proper_ introduction.”

Apollo chuckled blithely. “I must apologize. I know you must be referring to our earlier meeting, and I am truly sorry for that. It’s just that when you confused me for my brother, and I sensed some attraction, I just…couldn’t resist really. You’re very handsome, and I got a little carried away. I hope I haven’t left too terrible of an impression on you.” Dorian would like to believe his slightly sheepish expression was one of genuine apology, but he had a feeling the man wasn’t truly sorry in the slightest.

Well, if Dorian were _completely_ honest, he wasn’t that sorry either. Indeed, Apollo was incredibly handsome. Unable to resist the urge, he said, “Yes, well, I suppose the only thing we should truly feel sorry for is getting interrupted.” Earning a rather satisfied smirk from Apollo.

“Yes, it’s quite a shame,” Apollo agreed.

Dorian glanced around, vaguely aware of the eyes on them, including that of the Inquisitor. “I say, it’s terribly convenient timing you have there,” he commented. “Assassins do love to strike at parties. I imagine that should our enemy choose to send one tonight, they’ll be awfully confused at to which is the real Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

Apollo laughed. “Handsome _and_ funny. You get better and better by the second. I think I’ll quite enjoy my time here at Skyhold.” He stepped closer. “Especially if I’m in your company.”

The sexual energy rolled off of him in waves. Dorian could practically smell it on the man. Indeed, it was quite palpable between them for the minute they conversed, the candlelight and hearth fire dancing across Apollo’s striking features and making him look devastatingly beautiful, and Dorian’s heart thumped. But it was a strange feeling. It was…confusing. Because what made his pulse race so suddenly was the thought of how handsome _Artemis_ must also be underneath all that hair. Well, when he wasn’t covered in blood and gore.

Dorian knew he was in trouble when his only thought was of Artemis still, despite his brother’s appeal. But giving it a second thought, he supposed there truly wasn’t any harm in giving Apollo a chance. It appeared that for all intents and purposes, Artemis had made himself unavailable to Dorian, and what could it hurt to switch his attention to someone else for a change? Especially when that someone was clearly interested. But of course, he couldn’t make it too easy for him. Had to play a little hard to get first.

“I wonder what your brother would think, should he hear you say such things.”

Apollo glanced at the man in question, though Dorian wouldn’t dare follow his gaze to see what sort of look Artemis sported, and instead kept his eyes trained on the mage. “I’m not afraid of my brother,” Apollo proclaimed, boldly, lifting his dimpled chin. Yes, well, he’d clearly never seen what Artemis could do with the Anchor. “He can think of me what he will. You’re not his slave. You’re free to choose whatever company you like. And if my brother did a better job at keeping your interest, I suspect you wouldn’t be giving me the time of day anyhow.”

Dorian should like to whither at that last statement. It hit entirely too close to home. At least in the sense that Artemis never did anything to catch Dorian’s interest in the first place, let alone try to keep it. Dorian simply liked him, without the man even trying to be noticed by him. But no, he didn’t do anything to be deserving of Dorian’s attention. Sure, he said he had feelings for Dorian, that he thought about him all the time, but what had he done in response to said feelings? Ignored them. Pushed them down. Avoided Dorian like the plague.

Had he ever spoken one kind word to Dorian in their months of knowing one another? Dorian should like to think not. When Apollo spoke those damnable words, Dorian was suddenly confronted with the fact that no, Artemis _wasn’t_ actually deserving of those feelings being returned, and at least his brother was putting up some kind of effort to be charming and likeable. Maybe if Dorian starting paying _him_ some attention instead of the Inquisitor, it might teach Artemis a lesson. Teach him better than to squander something offered in the future.

The Altus dared to sneak a peak at the throne to see the Herald of Andraste watching them intently with a disapproving scowl, and smirked in kind. Maybe a little jealousy would do him some good. Maybe make him realize what he was missing out on while he was busy acting the fool. Dorian inhaled a little, then stepped closer to Apollo, until they were standing intimately close to one another. Then he lightly touched his arm. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Perhaps your brother simply doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

Apollo smiled at him, saying, “Too bad for him then.”

He spent some time chatting him up and flirting with him after that. Too engrossed in conversation to notice the Inquisitor rising from his seat and marching toward his quarters in an angry huff. Nor did he notice the Commander grow concerned and pull him back, asking what was wrong, and he certainly didn’t see Artemis shirk him off with a growl and ignore his questioning. But everyone in the Great Hall could hear how loudly he slammed his door shut when leaving, and Dorian’s heart raced. He had a feeling it was working already.

But…he had an even worse feeling that it wouldn’t go the direction he had planned.

Dorian couldn’t help but sense that he’d only made matters worse for himself, but at the Inquisitor’s unexpected departure, Apollo sighed. “Artie’s never been one for large gatherings,” he stated. “A pity. It’s been a rather swell evening all around, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed it has,” Dorian agreed.

“Well, I think I’ve bothered you long enough, and I should let you be. I’ll pester some other guest now. We’ll speak again soon.”

“Of course,” Dorian tilted his head in a slight bow as Apollo parted his company and circled the room once more. Dorian wantonly extended his cup to be filled when a servant walked by, carrying a wine jug. Then he gulped the first half of it down like it was water. He would’ve invited Apollo back to his quarters right then, but so soon after only just meeting the man was too uncouth, even for the Tevinter. So instead he watched the other guests from his corner once more, contemplating the perfect time to exit without being in poor taste.

“Charming, isn’t he?” Someone asked, and Dorian turned sharply at the voice. It was Grand Enchanter Fiona of all people, who folded her arms, eyes trained on the handsome mage as he conversed with some Orlesian noble at the other end of the hall. She was not smiling though. Her expression was perfectly neutral, as if she were totally indifferent, which was surprising. “Enchanter Trevelyan. He certainly knows how to catch one’s attention, does he not?” she commented, to which Dorian found himself absently nodding in agreement.

“He certainly does, yes,” he said, frowning into his cup before sipping it. “Where has he been all this time?” he asked. “I don’t remember seeing him in Redcliffe with the rest of you.”

“He returned to Ostwick shortly before the Conclave,” she explained.

“How terribly convenient,” Dorian remarked.

“Considering what happened there, I imagine he was quite lucky to have been called away, yes.”

“So was he always this charming and agreeable?”

“I’m afraid I don’t actually know him that well,” Fiona answered, to Dorian’s amazement. “I only know what I’ve learned second-hand.”

“Surprising. I should think that one in your position, hoping to gain strong allies and political figures to support your cause, I would’ve thought you’d rush to befriend the noble son of a Bann, with access to money and influence.”

“I would have, had I known of his existence. But he was simply one of many Senior Enchanters that reported to First Enchanter Amelia, and there were so many joining our ranks from all over that it was hard to keep track of each and every individual mage that fought under our banner.” Her eyes dimmed in sadness for a moment. “So many innocents lost…” She sighed. “At any rate, Enchanter Trevelyan never vied for any sort of position along us. He was perfectly content to take his orders from Amelia, until his father requested his return.”

“Why?”

“I should think that would be obvious,” Fiona smarted. “Bann Trevelyan only had two children. Apollo and his twin. Surely he can’t lose both of them to the war, despite Apollo’s gift of magic, most recently apostasy, and Artemis’ sworn duty as a Templar.”

“So he chose one of them as his heir?”

“Well, as rumor would have it, he extended the offer to both sons, but only one would give up their cause to take up the position.”

“Well, I’m sure it takes no great effort to figure out which one that would be.”

“Indeed.”

 _How curious_ , he thought.

That Apollo would give up fighting Templars in order to take up the family mantle instead, whereas Artemis would sacrifice all the land, money, esteem and power extended, to continue fighting the good fight. One could only wonder as to why. Maybe Apollo had grown weary of fighting, and of watching his friends fall left and right. Battle fatigue, they called such a thing. Or maybe Artemis was simply too impassioned by the Chantry’s edict to simply lay down his sword and Apollo felt he had no choice but to take his place.

It certainly made for an interesting topic of discussion, and Dorian suddenly found himself desperately wanting to know more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * First Enchanter Amelia of Ostwick is 100% headcannon. Nothing in the game or wiki mentions the name of the first enchanter of Ostwick, only mentions Senior Enchanter Lydia in a mage Trevelyan playthru. So I headcannon that the First Enchanter was a noble named Amelia, the Knight Commander was a commoner originally from Markham named Edmond Demarche, and the two secretly had an affair XD


	10. Questions

“Why did I ever like him in the first place?” Dorian mused aloud, flipping through the pages of _Adventures of the Black Fox_ as he’d plucked it from the shelf just then.

Once again, fretting over Artemis in the library. Only this time, asking himself why he’d ever been so taken by the Inquisitor to begin with, when there was truly nothing to fuss over really. They had never been friends, never bothered to build much of a rapport, there was no companionship, and they hardly spoke two words to one another. True, they were attracted to each other, but what really was there between them aside? When most days they could hardly stand one another.

Of course, Artemis only ever kept his distance because he was afraid of getting hurt, but it still stood to reason that there was truly nothing between them to get so worked up about in the first place. Dorian sighed at the thought now, moving from the shelf to the armchair nearby to sit and read, taking advantage of the quiet of the early morning before the rest of the keep awoke and despoiled it. He plucked his mug of coffee from the stack of books it rested on to noiselessly sip.

There was very little of what Dorian would consider decadent in the south, and little in the way of indulgence in what passed for taste in Orlais, but at least the Altus could appreciate their efforts in perfecting the bitter brew he sipped. Due to his allergy, thus his aversion to what was commonly steeped for tea, Dorian had been desperate for a suitable alternative to such a drink, and found a small comfort in coffee. In so, it became a very large part of his morning routine.

He didn’t have long to enjoy the quiet morning until he was disturbed, however. But this time, the interruption was less jarring, as Apollo merely encroached upon the entryway, moving to lean against the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest. Dorian looked up and blinked, appraising him for a moment. Now sober, in the early morning light, Dorian was beginning to see some of the subtle differences between the two brothers that weren’t noticeable upon first glance.

Like how Apollo was just slightly narrower in build than his twin. While Artemis looked as if he’d the upper body strength to knock the Iron Bull flat on his back if he so chose, Apollo was a touch sleeker in appearance and had the athletic build more like that of an acrobat, from years of wielding a staff and shaping his movements to accommodate magic, instead of bracing for a blow behind a shield. Also, his right eyebrow was slightly higher and more pronounced of an arch than the other.

It was a silly difference to notice, but nevertheless it was there. It rather gave Apollo this look of perpetual haughtiness. But of course such a scrutinizing individual like Dorian Pavus would notice such minor imperfections and pick them apart. _Maker’s breath_ , he thought, _am I becoming my father?_ Quickly he shoved that appalling thought aside. “Ah, good morning,” Dorian greeted softy when he noticed the Enchanter, snapping the book closed and setting it down.

“Good morning,” Apollo greeted in kind, smirking at him. 

There was a beat of awkward silence.

_Maker, this is so much easier to do when I’m drunk,_ Dorian lamented.

“Did you sleep well?” Dorian asked, and Apollo nodded.

“I did, yes. Though…I would’ve slept better had I some company…But no one offered to join me.”

“I find that hard to believe. Nearly everyone seemed to adore you last night. But not a one of them eager to properly welcome you to Skyhold?”

“Not anyone I was interested in, no.”

“A pity.” Dorian let his eyes wander over him for a moment. “I should think a man like you would never face rejection.”

Again, Apollo laughed softly. “You’d be surprised.”

Dorian smiled, but inwardly sighed, dejected. This was just the sort of interaction he’d always dreamed of having with the Inquisitor. For him to suddenly pop into the library, gracing the Altus with his presence, and sharing a little light banter, bordering on flirtation. To simply sit and bask in one another’s company. Idly chat about the inconsequential. Alas, he would have to settle for the brother instead. But at least Apollo didn’t make him feel like he was a nuisance.

“So,” Dorian set aside his coffee and shifted to a more comfortable position, crossing one leg over the other, “What made you decide to leave Ostwick and join the Inquisition, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, so we’re done flirting then?” Apollo chuckled. “Am I that terrible at it? Or just that much of a bore?”

Dorian didn’t want to pick apart the way Apollo deflected the question just now, much less read anything into it, but he couldn’t help it. Deflection was always his own go-to when asking hard to answer questions, ones that always ended up causing him to go on the defensive in a conversation. Which told the Altus that either one: he’d already answered this question too many times the night before, or two: the answer was a complicated mess he’d soon rather forget, expediently.

“Neither,” Dorian responded, rather than giving in to the temptation to continue their meandering. “I only meant to get better acquainted with the man I’ll hopefully be seeing much more of in the future.”

Apollo smirked at that. “Well, I…” He swayed a little in his spot, thinking. “I could appreciate the Inquisition’s cause. Convinced my father it would be a much more valuable use of my time than laying about in the family mansion. He wasn’t happy, of course, but he understood my reasoning.” Dorian fought the urge to drum his fingers on his arm. He waited patiently for more, but none came. That was all Apollo had to say. “What about you?” he then asked, giving the floor to Dorian.

“Heh,” he huffed. “Where to begin?…” Hmm, perhaps some honesty on his part might open up the Enchanter to the idea of more in-depth responses? So he gave the well rehearsed and often repeated response to such a question, relaying the incident in Redcliffe and his mission to rid the world of the Venatori and the threat they posed. Not that he didn’t mean a word of what he said. It was only that he’d said it so many times, whenever someone questioned the appearance of a ‘Vint’ at Skyhold.

“It’s nice to see there are some good ones,” Apollo commented. “My apologies to you, but mages of Tevinter don’t have much of a reputation here in the south. It’s nice to know they aren’t all bad.”

“I’m sure it’s a relief to you,” Dorian quipped lightly, reaching for his coffee to take a sip. “Might I ask, how was it that a mage of Ostwick became heir to the Bann?” he asked, still hoping to glean some insight into Apollo’s perplexing character.

“Ah, because typically mages in the south don’t hold any titles, yes?” Dorian nodded. Apollo smirked again. “Yes, a lovely little loophole my father found after the dissolution of the Nevarran Accords. He’d had quite the struggle with naming a suitable heir, considering his only children were a mage and a Templar, and the only alternative being a dissonant cousin that he in no way admired whatsoever, nor did he want staking any claim to his land and holdings through wardship.”

Apollo sighed, then continued with, “My brother _refused_ to abandon his duties to the Chantry, misguided as they were. Father could not convince him to give up fighting to accept what would have been _his_ inheritance by default, because I’m a mage–though technically I’m five minutes older–and so we nearly had Capricious Aurelius Trevelyan be named Bann of Ostwick. Ugh.” He rolled his eyes. “Could you imagine? Would’ve been a disaster to let that nincompoop sit on father’s fortune. 

So he had some of the family’s attorneys look into the matter, and they noticed a discrepancy. While the dissolution of the Accords gave Templars sanction to annul the Circles, it also had an adverse affect to this. Without the Accords, there are no bylaws stating that a mage cannot own property, hold legitimate titles or even marry if they so choose. This discrepancy worked to father’s advantage as it meant there were no laws preventing him from naming me as his rightful heir.”

Apollo smiled, obviously pleased by this fact. 

But that smile was short lived as his expression fell to something more serious as he added, “While it pained me to leave Fiona’s side and abandon her cause, I did have a duty to my family to uphold, and truthfully I was tired of fighting an uphill battle. I was exhausted. We all were. And I was tired of watching so many of my friends die at that hands of men like my brother. So I offered many of the mages sanctuary in my family’s home. Those that just wanted to live a peaceful life.”

Dorian lifted a brow at that. Sounded quite admirable. That while he abandoned the fight, he managed to turn it into an opportunity for other mages that no longer wished to fight, and only wanted peace. “How did your father feel about that?” Dorian asked.

Apollo huffed. “He was resentful at first, but…well, I managed to persuade him eventually. Being his only eligible heir has its advantages,” he winked.

“And the Teyrn of Ostwick?” Dorian inquired, metaphorically patting himself on the back for remembering that little tidbit about the governing factions of the Free Marches city-states. “What did they think of your use of your father’s home as a little getaway spa for all your magical friends?”

Apollo chuckled. “The Teyrn was…a problem, yes. But not one that couldn’t be dealt with. I’m not sure what sort of threats my father had to make–I wasn’t there for that conversation–but he was able to convince him to allow mages to take refuge within the city’s walls.”

“Ah so it all worked out perfectly then.”

“In short, yes.”

“But now you’ve come to join the Inquisition?”

Apollo’s expression became more pinched, as if the question left a sour taste in his mouth, but he nodded. “Yes. Now I’m here. I won’t lie, being here is a little jarring for me. The last time I saw my brother, he was trying to kill me. It’s hard to reconcile that with the fact that now he’s the Inquisitor of Thedas with this supposed mark on his hand that he fiddles with to close rifts. All of it seems impossible. And he’s… _changed,_ so much. He’s really not the same man at all, he’s…”

When he trailed off from that statement, Dorian grew bold enough to ask, though he probably didn’t want to know, “What was he like? Before, I meant.”

“Before the world started calling him the Herald of Andraste, you mean?” Apollo asked, and Dorian nodded. “You wouldn’t recognize him. He was… _brutal_. I don’t just mean in combat either, because I’m certain you’ve seen the man in action. Lady Cassandra mentioned your expeditions throughout Ferelden and Orlais. I’m sure you’re well aware of his skill as a warrior. But…well, let’s just say he was efficient. And what he excelled proficiently at was the slaying of mages.”

Dorian swallowed. Wasn’t that hard of a picture for the Altus to paint. He could easily imagine Artemis swarmed by mage attackers and slewing the whole swath of them with a ‘brutal efficiency’. But with the foreboding manner in which Apollo spoke, he’d made it sound like the mages he slew were mere apprentices. Children even. Was that what he implied? That Artemis didn’t only set his sights on the seasoned Enchanters and Harrowed Mages he was pitted against? 

Was there more to this story? Better question: Did Dorian even wish to know these things?

“I don’t mean to trouble you,” Apollo added. “I know you and everyone else here must think very highly of my brother. He’s done so much for the south as Inquisitor, from what I’ve heard. Closed the rifts, ended the war, all that. Set his sights to the true enemy: Tevinter–no offence. But I only hope for people to realize that there is a whole other side to my brother that they must never forget. While Artemis Trevelyan is many things, entirely innocent in all this is simply not one of them.”

Dorian sucked in a breath through his nose and exhaled. “Understandable,” he said simply, rather than comment. He didn’t feel it his place to have any sort of opinion on that subject. Not anymore than he should have an opinion on Ser Cullen’s prior treatment of mages in Kirkwall before joining the Inquisition. So he said nothing more, and merely nodded his head. There were many that looked up to Artemis as proof that Templars could be redeemed. But…also many that didn’t.

The right word in the right ear could easily turn the tide in this fight. Should Apollo go around spreading misinformation about Artemis, there were many that might withdraw their favor of the Inquisition. If the picture that was painted was too negative, they might lose a number of noble backers that provided the Inquisition with the financial means of building an army to fight Corypheus and the Venatori. Or possibly worse. But of course this was only abject thinking on Dorian's part.

The Altus sipped his steaming mug of coffee with some discernment. Apollo made it all too easy to like him, and despise his brother as well. What with all his bluster about giving mages sanctuary, and painting Artemis so negatively. Dorian desperately wanted to believe it were that simple. That he was good and noble and Artemis only recently of a redeemable quality. So…why _didn’t_ he? Why did he question the validity of the mage’s statements? Why even ask questions at all?

“Well,” Apollo chirped. “I shouldn’t bother you. Clearly you were enjoying your morning before I wandered in and soured it. Terribly sorry about that.”

“It’s quite alright,” Dorian assured, as if the whole occurrence were so trivial. “But I should like to get back to my reading. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

“You as well,” Apollo smiled, but lingered still, hesitant to leave Dorian’s nook, and he wrung his hands as if in question. “Say, is there any chance you’d like to join me for breakfast in the dining hall? I’m terribly famished.” He clutched his stomach as if starving with a laugh. “I promise to keep conversation more light hearted. Instead perhaps I’ll bore you with all the pleasant stories of my childhood before I was dragged away to the Circle. Or maybe tell you about Ostwick city?”

Dorian inhaled, considering the offer.

He glanced at the book beside him, then back up at Apollo.

_Kaffas!_ “Yes, alright, I’ll join you,” he agreed, making Apollo’s smile grow wider in achievement.

As much as he’d like a moment to himself to brood, he was still attempting to make Artemis jealous, wasn’t he? What better way to do so than by joining his brother in breaking their fast? Although…dining with Apollo simply for the sake of his company might not be so bad. _Why couldn’t I have these moments with Artemis?_ he quietly lamented, before pushing all further thought of the Inquisitor out of his head, and accepting Apollo’s hand when offering to help him out of the chair.

To the Great Hall they went, where the smell of freshly cooked eggs, ham and buttered toast awaited their senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel like going back and researching the dissolution of the Accords again, but if I got something wrong, let me know in the comments and I'll edit that part :/


End file.
